Tourniquet Man
by fleurs-du-mol
Summary: Eva gets attacked by a demon who takes a rare Satanic Bible. Chas tells her to contact John. John, as usual, comes with baggage, including looking after a certain psychic detective. Luckily, Eva can look after herself, though it causes trouble! Film-canon with some comic-canon influences.
1. The Nothing Man

I felt like a loser. It was a Friday night and here I was, shelving books at a second hand bookstore that smelled like a musty library and cat pee. I heaved myself up on the rickety ladder with some trepidation, trying not to let the books in my other arm topple ten feet down to the floor. The dangers of such a narrow store involved very high shelves, and were increased when the books themselves were heavy and old. I glanced at what had to be a seventy year old anthology of English literature. It weighed like five pounds.

The weather outside was as dreary as it had been five hours ago, the only difference being that the sun was down now. It was still drizzling and it was still cold. This was not what it was usually like in October in Los Angeles, and we'd all bundled up accordingly- except for Landon, whom we suspect is a werewolf and seems to run anywhere from four to five degrees hotter than an average human. The cold didn't bother him. I was very jealous of this trait, even though I preferred fall and winter to spring and summer. I jumped the last few rungs of the ladder and peered outside the front window. It was glazed with water and my breath fogged it up. Across the street, I could see the little cafes were just closing up. It had to be at least ten then. There were bars that stayed open a lot later, but they weren't necessarily in a part of town that you wanted to go to. I bundled my blond hair back into a haphazard bun.

Wearily, I tallied up the day's sales and realized how pointless it was staying open on Friday when we only made about fifty bucks anyway. I wasn't the owner, but I knew if I brought it up then we'd probably be closed on Friday. Pulp- the store- is basically run like a very calm commune. If someone can't come in, no one else panics unless there's really a reason to panic- once David, the owner, got mugged and sipped by a vampire, so then we panicked- and the place just closes for a couple of hours. No, that's not a practical way to run a business, but clearly something worked because during the week the place was hopping. All the writers and poets and even some performance artists from the nearby colleges frequented the place.

I should have gone to college. Now I was about three years past twenty-one and feeling distinctly weary of the idea. I had the brain, but unfortunately, when you are also extremely psychic, it makes being around large groups of people intensely difficult. Or it does for me, anyway.

I'm not a psychic in the usual sense; I'm what the other psychics derisively call a manipulator... like what they do isn't manipulative anyway. I've heard the less condescending term is "shadow walker." I can flit in and out of dreams. That's what I'm best at. It's also why I happen to be a chronic insomniac, addicted to coffee and the reason why I work nights whenever possible. I have trappings of the other psychic abilities, but largely I can fix your dreams to my liking. If I like you, that's good. If I don't like you, then it's not so good. Luckily, I have to know you relatively well to do this. Spirits also find their way to me, sometimes. I can do this really cool thing that's like channeling, only it's not, not strictly speaking.

Think of what you can do to an ex-boyfriend with those talents. I had done it. I still didn't think he was sleeping properly, but it wasn't as though I checked up on him all the time.

Point being, the other psychics don't like manipulators very much. I feel like they feel like we cheat. The demons, on the other hand, tend to like us a lot. Mind you, this was all hearsay and theoretical knowledge. I'd had to learn a lot once I figured out how I worked, but since we were apparently so few, I'd never had a teacher. Psychic powers run heavy in my family, but they were more telepathic than anything. My bother has the Second Sight: he sees the angels and demons on this plane. He sees ghosts too. Maybe way back, there was someone who could do what I did, but they were dead by now.

Lost in thought, I either didn't hear the door open, or didn't remember that it should have been locked. Because our building is so old, dating back to the early nineteen hundreds, we only have a back door that now faces a community parking lot. But when I glanced up, there was a very tall, very monochromatic man in front of me. He looked down his nose into my eyes.

"We're closed now," I said blandly. "We closed an hour ago. I thought I'd locked the door." I didn't bother adding an apology, as this man was looking at me with the expression one usually reserved for a slug or a cockroach.

And he was literally almost entirely colorless. His skin was an odd, milky pale tone, and his hair and eyes were so transparently grey they reminded me of a silverfish. Cheekbones jutted from his face, and his nose stuck out like the prow of a ship. He was wearing all black and looked distinctly severe. Our wall sconces flickered very gently when he tapped his fingers along his crossed arms. I blinked, feeling the hairs on the nape of my neck prickle as the lights dimmed, and then returned back to their normal brightness. The mist hadn't seemed to affect him. His clothes didn't even look damp, much less wet.

I stood up as he addressed me. "This is not our concern." That voice made me want to cover my ears- mostly because it was so damn weird. If the absence of sound had a sound, this man's voice would be it. I gaped at him. What the hell did that mean, exactly? "We need the book."

Well, that was helpful. "As you can see, we have lots of books. More than one book."

He barred his teeth. Actually barred his teeth at me, like an angry dog. "Your sarcasm is not appreciated." The nothing man advanced towards me, indicating the book I held in my hands now. It was born of pure habit, holding a book and not knowing what it was. I flinched. Generally speaking, I thought about trying to make him pay until his skin made contact with mine. It was a jolt, that skin. Temperature- dry ice. Texture- dried up vellum or mummies. He took the book as my fingers fell limp. I didn't register that I was hitting the floor until my head slammed into one of the empty bottom shelves.

* * *

When I woke up, there were police in the store. Oh hell. I was laying on the cot from the back room as the new kid, Chas, described how he'd found me. That's it, he must have come in to open this morning. I didn't want to open my eyes; I could feel the light pounding on them like miniature hammers. "Look," someone said, "she's coming to." I couldn't help but groan. My arms felt incredibly heavy. Footsteps fell closer to me and I wrenched one eye open. Some cop was looming over me. His eyes were limpid and brown in a prematurely aged face. "Hi," he said gently. "They were about to take you to the hospital. You're Evangeline... Cotillard?"

"Wish I wasn't. I don't need to go," I protested.

"You could have a concussion," the cop pointed out, with good reason.

"No health insurance. Don't want to pay," I croaked.

The cop hesitated. After a minute, he said, "All right. But we can't be held responsible-"

"Fine," I agreed, letting him help prop me up. Everything was blurry.

"I'm Inspector Weiss," the cop told me. "Do you remember anything specific? Chas here found you crumpled on the floor when he came in this morning, with the back door wide open." I frowned. I remembered inventorying the shelves, counting down the drawer...

"Yes," I said finally. "There was a man."

Chas glanced over from the officer he was talking to, I guess to listen to me. He was literally brand new- David had just hired him last week. This was his fourth or fifth day working at Pulp. I felt sorry for him. "A man?" Weiss prodded. He produced a pad of paper from his back pocket and began jotting notes. Jesus, my head hurt. I could do with a shot or five of vodka. The good kind, where the label was written in Cyrillic. Chas strolled over to the two of us, and I gave him a weak grin. He returned it and straightened his rather filthy newspaper boy hat. It was difficult to say what color the fabric was against his brown curls.

I blinked. "He was... like, all one color." Weiss scowled at me, paused in his writing. "I mean, his hair and eyes were gray. His skin was pale, paler than mine." I waggled an arm to demonstrate. I was anemic, so being disgustingly pale came with that territory. "He was wearing all black, and he wasn't very tall. Maybe 5'7 at the most. Elderly-ish." More like ageless gone backwards.

"And he attacked you? Stole something valuable?"

Wasn't this going to be embarrassing. "Er, yeah, he did steal something fairly valuable." I scrunched my face up in concentration. I hadn't paid much attention to what book he'd taken, but at the moment I could recall what it looked like. There was only one book that looked like that in the whole store. "It was a Bible. But not a normal Bible. This might sound dumb, but it was a nineteenth century edition of a sort of... Satanist Bible. I mean, one that supposedly comes from Hell." I was nominally Catholic, but that sounded far-fetched even to me sometimes, and both my sets of grandparents were French Catholics who still attended Mass in Latin. I could tell by the way Weiss was staring at me that he was now factoring in temporary insanity with the concussion. However, Chas looked beyond piqued. Maybe he was another wannabe Satanist. I'd had my fair share of those in here.

Apparently Weiss found me to be in too delicate a state for him to argue my point. "Then he knocked you out?"

Whatever the guy had done to make me pass out, it was definitely paranormal and definitely more in line with my abilities on all planes other than this one. I was not about to tell a Los Angeles police officer this. "We do have some really heavy things in here. I guess he did." I tried my best to look apologetic, and played the hurt woman card to the hilt. It worked, because Weiss nodded sympathetically and folded up his notepad.

"Miss Cotillard, I suggest you close up for the day and head home. We'll be working on this- there's been quite a few, er, book thefts lately. One at the Huntington Library in San Marino, even. We have some reason to believe that the same person was involved in all of them." He looked disconcerted that anyone would be willing to steal an antique book, but there you go. He shook hands with me and I tried smiling at him, although my face muscles were starting to behave like old Play-Doh. The contingent of cops left the store, filing out the back. I'd been out cold for their photos and their evidence gathering. They weren't going to find anything concrete. I shuddered as I thought of the unknown man's skin. I didn't need to be psychic to know he wasn't supposed to be here in my world.

The new kid was leaning against a bookshelf. On closer inspection he wasn't all that much younger than me, though he carried himself more like a high schooler than someone in his twenties. I blew air out from my cheeks, regretting it instantly because it made my head throb all the more. "I believe you," he said. Off my look, he added, "About the book being a Bible from Hell."

Oh boy, here we go. "Right," I said guardedly. I heaved myself up and groped around for my cell phone. "Why?" I was expecting stories about a coven gone awry. Something melodramatic. I was not expecting the next answer.

"Because one of my... friend's friends has another copy."

That was not what I was waiting to hear. I paused, mid-dial, and flipped the little phone closed. Who was I going to call, anyway? Both my parents were dead and my best friend was out of town. "Oh."

"I think my friend," Chas continued, "would like to know about what happened to you."

"Doubt it," I snorted. "Look, kid- Chas. I don't even want to know about what happened to me." I was resisting the flood of memories that was coming back into my nerves, especially the ones concerning the way the lights had flickered when the nothing man had come in. I'd seen a lot in the past few years, but whenever I saw that I was still afraid. I didn't like things that took away light, even if I was, technically, one. The boy fell silent. It was a heavy silence, the kind that was full of thoughts. Against my better judgment, I asked, "Who's your friend and why would he be interested in me?"

Chas grinned. "I can't really tell you why, because we don't know yet, but I can tell you who."

"Who?" I prompted. I'd been around the occult circles here; Pulp carried many books, tomes, and otherwise hard-to-find magical, esoteric and religious volumes. And Chas was smiling like I'd be pleased.

"Constantine. John Constantine," said Chas, in the finest display of hero worship I'd ever come across. I chewed his reply over. On the one hand, Constantine was The Big Gun. There were a few Big Guns here in my town. But he was a Big Gun I'd heard literally tons about. David, for one, was utterly enthralled by his escapades. I'd come to regard Constantine as the kind of Mick Jagger of the west coast occult world, someone I would never meet, nor want to meet, but a man I could admire from afar.

The Big Guns came with Baggage. Loads of it. Constantine's, in particular, was his legion of ghosts- people who'd been killed working with him, being involved with him, and broadly, being around him. I didn't know how the man could stand that.

I'd also heard he was an asshole, but who was I to judge? "Okay..." I said uncertainly, massaging my head.

"You guys could meet at a bar, or somewhere," Chas said helpfully. He really did seem to think that there'd be a point in me meeting his "friend." I thought about that choice in words, smirking a little. Gently, I let myself probe Chas, his aura. It told me nothing specific, but he did have some brand of Second Sight. It wasn't very developed- maybe because he'd just reconciled himself with it, or recognized it for what it was- but it was distinct. That comforted me a little. I sighed because Chas probably meant Midnite's. Anybody worth his psychic salt went there. That was the whole point of getting in- passing a little psychic "test." I'd never been, figuring I'd have no luck if the bouncer wasn't sleeping. But then, I'd never tried. I wondered if I gave off any kind of freaky vibe to Chas, because many other magic practitioners and psychics tended to give me the cold shoulder about it.

That could be because sleep was supposed to be inviolate. It was supposed to be refreshing, and restorative. The idea that someone could literally manipulate it made most people immensely uncomfortable. Sleep was apparently sacrosanct, or something. I wouldn't know; I never got enough of it. The dream walking, shadow walking thing went both ways. Demons, angels, ghosts, other psychics, could all use your head as a sort of telepathic highway. Unfortunately, when I did sleep and dream, it usually involved things to that affect. Things that were none of my business. Lately I'd been seeing a lot of some pretty man in expensive pinstriped suits. I mean, if you could call some rotting green monstrosity who was shaped like a man, a man. I really didn't like him. He was the reason I'd gotten six hours of sleep in the past three days.

Logically, that shouldn't be possible. I should be in the hospital with exhaustion. I should be behaving like a drunk woman. But I wasn't- another of the quirks God had gifted me with, joy.

Being unconscious was actually more restful than sleeping. I hadn't dreamt while I'd been knocked out.

Weakly, I nodded, as softly as possible. I didn't want to disturb the rocks rolling around in my brain. My life needed a little more variety and interest, and apparently I was about to get it. "You mean Midnite's, don't you?"

If he was surprised I knew what it was, he hid it. Sheepishly, with a tone that told me he'd been thinking too much about the topic, "Yup. He's headed there tonight. I mean, in a couple of hours. It's actually pretty late." I glanced outside. He was right; the sun was setting already.

"What time did you get here?" I asked suspiciously. Pulp opened at one in the afternoon on weekdays. Chas had to have gotten here really, really late then. "I won't say anything to David."

He looked down, studying his shoes. "I had a late night driving some people... and some errands to run today. I came in about four. I know I was supposed to be here to open..."

I shrugged. "You'll find it doesn't much matter here. Especially since you and I are the only ones who haven't taken vacations this week. What time is it now?"

"Almost six. I can drive you over." That was nice of him. Nice and far too assuming. But since I had no car and often walked everywhere- my apartment was not at all far from Pulp, either, so the Metro and the buses suited me just fine- I'd pretty much have to let him. "I drive a taxi, so it's kind of... my job?" he supplied. I felt a little better, then.

Tapping my fingers on the counter, which is where my feet had taken me to without my body really admitting it, I nodded again. "Let me change then. I can't go there looking like I've slept in the same clothes for two days, much less with blood on my shirt." I gestured to my wrinkled t-shirt and creased cargo pants. "I keep things in the back- I left a dress here the other night when we had a party. I won't be long."

* * *

An hour later we were strolling- well, I was strolling and Chas was trotting- down the steps to Midnite's. I'd passed it so many times during the day it was hard to recognize it. Chas tarried before the foyer, nervously. I muttered under my breath. Don't tell me he couldn't come in. I never needed a wingman like I needed one tonight. The sad part was, I felt like once I was inside my Sight would kick in (as much as it could since that wasn't my thing, per se) and I would know exactly who I was dealing with. Also, John Constantine being described as a tall, lean brunette puffing on cigarettes kind of helped. Chas had elaborated, saying he favored white shirts, black ties and black pants. Interesting guy. I stopped and Chas almost collided into me. "What?" I asked.

Shuffling his hands in his pockets a little, he said, very quietly, "I'm not... I can't..."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," I snapped. I straightened the straps on my champagne colored dress, which had cost me about two and a half paychecks. It looked it too. I prodded him forward, and when we stepped through the door we were both inundated with red light. The bouncer was black and burly, and he looked like any other bouncer I've ever seen. But instead of motioning to check our I.D.'s he held up a card. The kind of card psychologists used to perform E.S.P. tests, or a Tarot card. I couldn't tell which by the ornate back. I stared at it for a second, thinking, Oh- haven't seen one of these for a really long time... and then I had the image floating in my head. "Rat in a dress," I said confidently.

The bouncer lifted the rope so I could pass through. I waited for Chas. The bouncer held up another card. Poor kid, he goggled at it, then proclaimed, "Rat in a dress." I could see, from my angle, that it wasn't. It was actually The Hanged Man... so the bouncer liked to mix suits. The huge man shook his head. Chas looked over at me apologetically, tossing up his hands.

"I told you," he called, over the growing din of some weird European trance music. Great. I was going into a supernatural rave. I shrugged, not really knowing how to handle the situation other than to keep heading in. "I'll be... outside. Somewhere," Chas concluded lamely, looking extremely irked. I felt like once this bizarre day had ended, I would end up really liking him. He reminded me a lot of my younger brother. I waved to him, took a deep breath, and strode forward.

My first impression was not the best. They had the place all darkened, and there were some strobe lights going off like nobody's business.

Secondly, my Sight was struggling to catch up with everything it was now seeing and hearing. I couldn't imagine what it was like for a stronger psychic than me. The only thing I was really retaining was the obvious fact that everyone here was psychic, angelic, or demonic. Their auras were colored, glittered, bright, dark... against the stark darkness of the club it was all excruciatingly harsh. And the mental voices. I stood stock still for a second, simply trying to adjust. Probably having a mild concussion wasn't helping a thing, either. I willed myself to stagger over to the enormous bar, generating a fair amount of attention as I did so. I supposed this was because I was new, and because my own aura had its own specialness to it. Midnite's was home to regulars, not casual observers.

With a thud, I settled onto a stool less gracefully than I would have liked. The barman, a man who was somewhere in his forties, had a deep purple sheen to his skin that shimmered as he moved. He was glaring at me. "I'll have a martini," I volunteered, definitely not heartened by his welcome. He grunted in reply and turned away to mix the drink.

"Make that two." The voice was male, silky. And British. These were two things I very much like. I peered over my shoulder at the man who had sidled up to me.

Immediately, I felt my stomach drop, and my hormones screech to a halt.

It was the guy from my head. Well, my dreams. Either way. Green, rotting, corpse guy. Only right now he was under a heavy glamor, one that gave him the appearance that, I'm sure, worked to his advantage with any human who couldn't see what it was hiding. I swallowed and forced a smile. My brain was whirring: did he recognize me for what I was? It was entirely possible. Though I hoped not. He gave me such a warm smile, my guard slipped a little.

This was very disconcerting, being around a being who had the ability to make me both charmed and direly frightened at once. "Thank you. I'm Evangeline," I said, amping up my slight French accent in an attempt to have some subterfuge. Hey, I was born to parents whose second language was English- it came naturally. I think.

As he looked at me, I slowly got the impression that he was trying to mine me. Mine my mind. No- he wasn't going to win that game. Once I had the feeling of somebody trying to stick their metaphorical fingers in my brainwaves, I erected a sloppy kind of wall between me and him. It wasn't something I'd had much experience with, so I wasn't sure it would work, but if stubbornness won me points then I'd have it made. In the darkness, his eyes flashed red. A glamor spell of the most powerful kind couldn't hide that. "Balthazar," he said at length. He'd felt that.

The barman slid our drinks over to us and I took a sip, all innocence and female docility. Balthazar's metaphorical fingers- I'm sorry, I can't describe it any better than that- wrenched harder at my wall, which, for the moment, wasn't budging. "You're... new," he breathed, sounding delicious. Smooth. The rotting guy was smooth. And obviously unconcerned with his demon status in regards to me. I was willing to bet my cat and both kidneys that most women he met didn't care. It would be part of his mystique, the whole package.

Playing up the flirt factor, I licked my lips. "Yes, I recently moved here from-" thinking of my home town, I improvised. "New Orleans." For someone who had just spent more than twelve hours out cold, I knew I looked good. I have pretty coloring, at least.

He chuckled and lit a cigarette. "Mind if I smoke?" Mutely, I shook my head. He'd already lit the thing anyway. "I love New Orleans. So many interesting people." His tone implied that I, too, was one of those interesting people.

This was a little like playing chicken with a cobra. "Oh, of course," I agreed, nodding. He blew smoke out, slowly, those freaky eyes of his glittering. Every so often his glamor faltered and the way he truly looked flickered through. "My family, they practiced a kind of folk magic. Like voodoo." So now I was really improvising. My mother and father had done no such thing, and my other relatives practiced Catholicism that was heavy on the superstitions of the south. I practiced more magic than they did. But what I could do frightened me in its implications, so I didn't mess about with it too much.

"That must account for your aura," he prompted, very subtly. I wasn't going to fall for it.

"I don't know what you mean," I said innocently. Delicately, I ate the cocktail olive on the end of the stirrer. He wasn't going to fall for it either. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Oh, but you must." He was a study in coercion. I felt my wall falter, slip. That must be his particular talent. I knew demons tended to "specialize" in something.

"Balthazar," said a new voice, "you promised you would go out with me tonight." I nearly skipped with relief. One more second and he'd have my head cracked open like a melon. Again, we're talking metaphorically. An amber haired woman stood at his arm, giving me hardly a second glance. She was gorgeous, in a cold, untouchable kind of way. I would never look like that if I had a decade to spend every morning in front of my mirror. My mind went immediately to "whore" because of the cut of her dress, and then I saw the telltale glimmer of her eyes. It wasn't much of a stretch before the word "succubus" slipped to the surface. A classy demon whore, to be exact.

"A moment, Ellie," he said indulgently, pinning me with his gaze. Fluidly, he rose from his chair and took her hand. "It was very nice meeting you, Evangeline." Before he walked with the female demon, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Sweet dreams, little shadow walker." I gripped my drink fiercely, glaring at him. Now I really didn't want to go to sleep any time soon. My heart was combating its way out of my throat for several minutes before they'd left my line of sight in a trail of shimmering green sequins and blue cigarette smoke.

Then I nearly deflated, until I heard what someone murmured over at me: "It's not exactly something you can hide." I whipped around, my hair flying into my mouth. The man who sat next to me now was probably the one I'd been told to come find. I could kind of catch that his aura was distinct from everybody else's, and anyway, everybody else was giving him a relatively wide berth. His mouth languidly held a cigarillo, and his dark hair was messy, standing up at different angles. "You haven't noticed the stares?" His voice was sardonic and had a slight rasp in it.

Mulishly, I shrugged. "Why'd you think I sat here, with my back to the main floor?" I knew this would happen. I just knew it.

"It's your deal," he said mildly. John Constantine settled himself, catlike, into the seat next to me. "There aren't many of you. I don't know if it's genetics, or what."

Scowling at him, I finished up the martini. "Lucky me. What was he? He's been using my head like a freeway for a few weeks." He was something powerful, that's what.

I stared at the barman, whose back was to us, but I could have sworn he was still glowering. John opened his mouth, then closed it. He appeared to be choosing his words carefully. "We, ah, have a history. He's kind of the... high ranking emissary from Hell. He's been here a long time, on this plane. He's got a lot of clout." The Big Gun rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately."

Pursing my lips to avoid laughing- which I'm sure would make my head hurt- I couldn't help but dryly ask, "A history, huh?" There were a lot of implications in that word too, the way there was when Chas said John was his "friend." It wasn't so much the word as the tone. Particularly in John's case.

He said "history" the way I might admit I'd had a one night stand with David: like he had a lemon in his mouth. I had never slept with David, by the way. I was ninety percent positive that Chas and John had at least fooled around. When that happens, your aura will pick up some of the other person's color, especially if you have any emotional attachment. Chas had been emphatically green, the same color as healthy ivy, and I could see traces of it in the cold, deep slate surrounding John.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I decided to keep it under better wraps, whether or not John was telepathic.

He changed subjects, not before giving me a very hard look. "You kept him out, for a while. But he knew what you were the second you came in," John said. "It's why he sat next to you."

"It's probably why you're sitting next to me too," I said. He smiled, more than a little wolfishly. It was probably no coincidence that a lot of the ghosts crowding the air around him were pretty women. That didn't bode well. "But in any case, your apprentice told me to come here and talk to you."

"Chas?" John asked, and then took a drag, exhaling. "I didn't know he could talk to girls without there being some horrifically embarrassing incident." He raised an eyebrow. I studied his face. It was oddly angular, but not in an unattractive way, necessarily.

"Oh no, I was the one who had the horrifically embarrassing incident," I replied readily. "I work with him. At Pulp. He found me this afternoon, knocked out and sprawled on the floor." I was assuming John kept tabs enough on Chas to know where he worked, and I was also assuming he knew what Pulp was. Perhaps a bad assumption, but I didn't care to explain myself tonight much further than I had to.

John stretched his legs and leaned back, cracking his neck. He looked supremely nonchalant, or plain careless. I couldn't really decide if I wanted to tell him anything. He didn't exactly inspire confidence; he made you feel a little like you were wasting his time. But Chas had seemed so adamant, and he'd warned me about John's lack of people skills. It was nothing personal. "I'll bite. Why?"

"A... man... came in last night and stole a copy of a Bible from Hell. I was holding it while he took it, and he touched me, and everything slipped away. I remember hitting my head on a shelf, and that's all. I think he could... manipulate my talent." I was not about to go into detail concerning what I could do. Besides, he already seemed to know. Euphemisms would be fine for now. "We were resonating on the same level. I felt it."

"Someone who can manipulate the manipulator," John said thoughtfully. His eyes were very dark, almost the same color as his hair. He was staring at me pretty unashamedly, only I doubted it had to do with my physical looks. His look was evaluating, shrewd. Well, shit. I can't have been this intriguing, otherwise things here were more boring than I gave them credit for.

I started straight back at him. He was still outlined in his slate color, but I found if I thought about it, I could focus and he looked normal. Normal, though, was deceptive.


	2. Bones

Blankly, I repeated, "A soldier demon. Here."

Chas nodded. I handed him down a book, which he took after scowling at its heft. We were doing a little, er, spring cleaning before David came back from his time off and heard that my new best friend was John Constantine. It wouldn't be hard to figure out who, exactly, I was pulling all these books for, particularly in light of recent paranormal events that were causing ripples among everyone who had even a remote sixth sense. I didn't want David or Landon involved. They were nice, but overly enthusiastic. Also, at this point, I wasn't sure how safe they would be if they got involved by lifting so much as a pinky finger against a demon.

"That's not possible," I said. "Is it?" Chas shrugged.

"I was there," he said mildly. "Try telling me it's impossible."

"It should be," Beeman called from the corner behind the counter. I'd only met the awkward, introverted man an hour ago- he was orchestrating this whole thing, really. If I'd had my way I wouldn't deconstruct the store just for information. But I had to admit, we had a lot of resources to draw on, now that they were scattered all across the floor before me. Up on my ladder, it all looked so impressive.

It was getting dark too quickly for the season, I noted. I needed to put wards on this place, and do it soon, before the nothing man, or any of his friends, decided to come for a nice follow-up chat. I also had Balthazar for a playmate now, that much was clear, so I needed to watch myself in a way I wasn't accustomed to. It made me bitter, actually. I didn't know how I was going to explain my rationale behind putting every ward known to man on a humble bookshop to David, but he would have to live with it. Wards tend to give off a nice buzz, and they're tangible even to "ordinary" people. Any wards I made had a distinct signature trail; they were just weirder than other wards.

The back door opened with a clatter and I couldn't help but flinch. That door was old, and it was original. We treated it with courtesy. It had to be John, and so it was, only he was trailed by an elegant-looking brunette. Oh boy- more new friends. What was this one, I wondered, another succubus? Chas gaped at her. I sighed. "That door's older than you by about... oh, seventy years," I said. John glanced up at me, glanced over at Chas, but his eyes landed on Beeman. He made no rebuttal.

"Scavengers, Bee," he said abruptly. The brunette woman looked extremely rattled. She looked around the shop with wide eyes, although to her credit she didn't look terrified, just very overwhelmed. Beeman was stunned. His mouth opened and closed twice before he croaked a little. Seemingly, whatever scavengers meant, it meant a lot more to him than it did to me. His hazel eyes widened behind his thick, round glasses.

"John, that's-" he trailed off, swallowing. "That's-" He raked a hand through his thin, ginger hair.

"Impossible?" said Chas with an edge, "yeah, there's a lot of that going around tonight. John, like, demons?"

I put it together. "Of the damned?" I had to lean against the shallow railings of the ladder's platform. Scavengers of the damned were nasty. "Coming for you?"

A wry smile twisted the corner of his mouth. "No. For her." He jerked his thumb at the new woman. I couldn't help but gawk. If they were coming for him that was one thing. But if they were coming for your average, run of the mill, everyday woman, that was food for thought which would give you some major heartburn. She shuffled her feet a little. She was dressed in all black, crisp and practical. There was a visible holster at her side, which made her a cop or something cooler, like maybe an FBI agent. Interesting.

Beeman, who was still so clearly not supporting this situation, asked, "Why?"

"I don't know," the woman said. Her voice was slightly husky, and not at all unpleasant. "He thinks he knows." She shot John a look that was not complimentary.

As if continuing a conversation they'd had earlier, he said, "You're sure your sister didn't commit suicide?" As an aside, he added to the three of us, "Angela's sister was in an asylum- apparently she was murdered." I bristled a little at his tone.

There was something missing here. Demons wouldn't go after a normal person, not just by appearing randomly and trying to take them away. I grumbled, letting my instincts wander. Angela had to be more than she was trying to seem, pretty much just like Chas, my brother, and me. No sane person paraded their psychic abilities around when it could compromise their life, or even simply their quality of life. I shoved a book in between some of its friends. Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott.

Awareness seeped slowly into me. "How did you find out?"

Chas sat down on a huge, leather bound Bible. A normal Bible, that is.

Angela bit her lip. "I was called into the investigation of the death. I'm a detective," she explained. That sucked. But I also had a slight hunch she was evading the question. Call it reading body language if you'd like, because she was blushing a little and studying her feet, and granted, she was very calm and cop-like while delivering this disturbing statement, but something else picked at me. Something more subliminal.

"Were you her next of kin? The hospital would have to call someone," I pointed out.

The rest of us were wondering exactly what made this woman so special as to have demons parading after her. Not half-breeds. Real ones. If John said the demons were after her, he was probably right. I would trust his experience even if he was being a dick.

The cop shot me a heated look. I was striking a nerve. "Yes, I was the only next-of-kin. What are you?" she asked, a little scathingly, "another occultist? You can't just accept that someone is dead because of- of mind games and-" On the other hand, I was striking a nerve, but she was grasping at straws. Yes, maybe I was being rude. I'd risk it if it was remotely relevant to anything that had to do with me- and I was guessing that John hadn't brought her here so we could all have tea and read each other fairy tales out loud.

"I'm just a girl who works in a bookshop," I said with a smile.

I wedged another book next to Little Women. It was a very outdated United Kingdom travel guide. Shrugging, I added, "Who has weird friends. Just like you're only a cop with a murdered sister who is being chased by what? Rabid bats with big teeth?" I turned back to my shelves, began heaping the books we needed down onto the other ones on the floor. "I couldn't help even if I wanted to." Chas stifled a laugh. The sound of heavy, solid objects hitting the ground were the only other thing we heard.

Angela heaved a huge sigh. "I dreamt it," she said, very quietly and very flatly.

Ah-ha. Somewhere behind my back and to Angela's left, John shifted a miniscule amount. I could almost hear it. "You saw it?" I asked, not turning around. This was too convenient. I stiffened at the thought.

"No," she said, struggling with admitting this to four people who were strange and strangers. "No. I was her. I was Isabel."

This was going downhill in a direction I didn't like. It was a little like seeing your toast fall from the kitchen counter, jelly side down. There's nothing you can do to salvage it once it hits the floor.

"In the dream?" John said, too clearly, too evenly. Dreams are something I can make people see again: call this shadow walking talent number forty-two that made us unappealing and, well, manipulative. It's like lucid dreaming, mostly. But it's (in my limited experience) tiring and I don't like doing it. The expelled energy also calls up other things, a little like blood scents sharks. I knew John knew this. He knew I knew it.

"Yes," Angela said defiantly. "I didn't want to say anything because it sounds, well, idiotic." She laughed without any humor.

Then I laughed the laugh of the desperately cornered. Chas asked, "Eva?" Everyone at Pulp called me by my nickname; now he did too. Evangeline was too much of a mouthful. I turned to face Constantine, sensing quite adequately that our whole relationship was going to go both ways. He helped me with the nothing man, and I helped him with stuff. I hadn't been expecting any stuff to come up. Shadow walking was nice: it was rarely relevant. Fuck me.

John asked, "Outside?"

Rolling my eyes, I jumped down from the ladder and stalked out before he could. "Sure."

The lights for the parking lot were already on to combat the twilight. His face looked chiseled under them, chiseled from some unforgiving material that was hard to work with. "Look, if this saves me a trip to Hell," he started frankly, "I will take it. I want to know if the sister offed herself or not."

"Why is this important?" I asked impatiently.

"It just is," he said.

Stubbornly, I said, "How do you know I can play inside her head like it's a VCR?"

The look he gave me was enough to curdle milk. He wasn't going to gratify that with a response. He was much more accomplished than me at reading auras, which clearly spelled out what one was, and was not, capable of. He knew what I could do, quite possibly better than I did. Theoretically I was capable of doing anything any other shadow walker could do. The question was whether or not I had enough "wattage" and power to do those things, or someone else's power to steal for them if I did not.

"Fine," I said through my teeth. "Make me a moving target for all the half-breeds and ghosts in the area. Just because you are, doesn't mean I want to be." I wanted help too, I reminded myself. And this all was only fair.

* * *

Very ungraciously, Angela took John and I to her apartment. Chas and Beeman stayed behind at Pulp, using the cover of doing "research." I was beyond nervous; I was almost nervous to the point of being a nervous wreck. The last time I'd done anything like this, I'd ended up in bed for a week. And that was before piquing the interest of the chief emissary of Hell and his mortal enemy.

We were all on the bed in the master bedroom. It was very clean, very beige and very quiet. I was trying to explain this whole process to Angela, who listened with more skepticism than I think most people use up their entire lives. "You don't have to be sleeping, but I'm going to, uh, put you in a trance. A simulated sleep. See, you and your sister obviously shared a kind of, psychic link. Otherwise you couldn't have dreamed her death." Angela's eyes were hard. "What I will do is get that dream out from your brain, and I can watch it. Then we'll know what really happened." I didn't want to say what I thought, which was Angela knew her sister had killed herself, and was only not admitting it because that was a painful reality to come to grips with. The cards were stacked against her- John had a point.

"Fine," Angela said. She flopped back on the bed. "This is crazy."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Kind of. Don't fight me."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Fight you?" I put my hands on her forehead, which she did not like. Very gently, I pushed through a little of whatever it was that made me, me. I have no technical terms because I've never learned them, if there even are any. Her annoyed squirming, the tapping of her fingers, ceased. Her eyelids drooped, then closed.

John watched this with some interest. "I'm going," he said.

"You're joking," I said. I'd never brought anyone with me. The only person I'd even done this to was my brother, mostly just to see if I could. Bringing someone else in was pretty much beyond my comprehension, although John would probably be under his own steam. Either way, it bugged me, the idea of having someone's what- essence, soul, personality- coming along with mine.

"Nope," he said, looking, I would have sworn, amused. The light in the room grew dimmer by the second, making me feel strangely more at home.

"Okay," I said truculently. He put two fingers on my arm and I whisked us off. Not us, not physically, but whatever made us, us, on a much more philosophical level. If, I think, you were to see me, John and Angela in the real world, we'd all look like people who are in deep comas. It makes me wonder about the people who are actually in what doctors call "comas."

It's similar to traveling by subway, if the subway were to compress you and squash you into a new, dense ball of matter. It's dark, it's fast, and it's disorienting. And it kind of hurts, but I suppose you get used to it. The only difference I felt compared to the last time was this sense of someone else, Constantine, being along side my sense of myself. It seriously isn't like you have a means of communication, so I couldn't ask if everything was good until we got where we were going. I would know. I just knew when I'd aligned myself the right way, sent myself to the right stop. Luckily (or unluckily) this dream was still fresh in Angela's psyche. I found it deceptively quickly. This could have been because I had an extra boost alongside me- damn, this man was electric- but I was going to give myself more credit.

We slammed into the dream, feet first, which started right when Isabel woke up- or got up- from bed. John and I were observers in the corner of the green-tinged hospital room, invisible and imperceptible to Isabel. The beautiful woman was the exact image of her sister as she sat bolt upright, looking around with a sharp gasp. "They're twins," I breathed. That made a lot of sense. She was up and running before I could get anything else out. "Come on," I said to John, gesturing impatiently. Otherwise we would lose her, and we needed to see what happened. The dark haired, lithe Isabel was a surprisingly fast sprinter.

I bolted, following her up flights of eerily lit industrial stairs.

John, behind me, was keeping up but sounded exactly the way you would expect a longtime smoker to sound while he was trying to run.

"Did you see her arm?" I called over my shoulder. There was something etched there, like a brand or a tattoo, but I obviously couldn't see it from where I was.

I thought I heard a "No" through the gasping.

The run ended when we were at the top of the roof. I stopped, seeing suddenly what was going to happen. She was going to jump. But she didn't do it right away. Isabel was looking over the edge, out over the glimmering city, and then she turned a tearstained cheek to look over her shoulder. The wind whipped her long hair. Then she looked directly at John, like she could see him. I think she could. I don't know. It wouldn't make much sense if she did.

But dimly, almost so wistfully we couldn't hear it, Isabel said, "Constantine."

And she twisted before she fell. It was deliberate. Definitely not some kind of accident. I grabbed John's arm. "Come on," I said, "before anything else that shouldn't happen, happens." The edges of the dream were growing grainy and dark, which meant that we would be jerked out anyway.

I let that help me, because I was so confused I didn't quite trust myself to get us altogether out. John let me guide him, which was as much a miracle as a dead person communicating with someone via her sister's dream memory. But I thought, since it actually happened and was not a fictional event (like a real dream usually is), it wasn't as weird as I was interpreting it to be.

Coming back into my body felt like being mashed into a prom dress that didn't fit, no matter how long you laid on the floor to flatten your belly while you zipped the dress up. I sat lankly on the bed. "That's how she knew to come to you," I said.

John's face was impassive. He was studying me again, but this time like he knew more about me than I wanted. "Yeah."

"Would you stop looking at me like that?" I asked irritably. He turned to the side instead, and looked at Angela.

"Do you wake her up too?"

"No," I said. "She'll come to on her own. And speaking of which, I don't want to be around for that; she'll just bitch at me." I got up. Actually, I felt pretty buzzed, pretty good, aside from still feeling as though my body was several sizes too small. I looked down at him, which even when I was standing and he was seated, was not all that much of a distance. "It's been great. I have to go lock up. Chas doesn't have keys." John's mouth was slightly open, but he didn't stop me.

I gathered up my sweatshirt and thrust my arms into it. This was weird; I felt, well, nice. I just didn't want to be around what's-her-face when she woke. "It's a ways back," John said wryly.

"You think she's really going to drive us?" I asked with a laugh. I was already halfway through the doorway. He smiled. "Okay, well, maybe you. Look, take her out to eat... soften the blow... whatever. You know she's not going to like what we saw- she'll know exactly what it was. I have things to do."

The tall, dark man studied his hands. "Like sleeping?"

Biting my tongue, I said, "No, probably not. Like tidying up Pulp... cleaning my house. Reading. I don't know." Truth was, this magic had me jittery. I felt a little stoned, that was for sure, but I was simultaneously restless. I'd probably be awake until dawn and then pop a couple of sleeping pills like I always did so I could sleep for a few hours. A drugged sleep rarely yielded the same scary dreams real sleep did. It was absolute hell on your liver, which is why I tried not to succumb to the pills more than two or three times a week. Still bad, but not as bad as every solitary day.

He was still smiling. "You gonna walk?"

"Concerned?" I asked. "That's sweet. I'm going on the Metro. There's a stop very close to where I live. Clean up your mess." I gestured at the sleeping woman who was still on the bed. "I just don't want to be around this right now." By "this" I was referring to a large range of things I hadn't yet decided on. A grieving sister was one, certainly, but in the slight resonance of what I'd just done, I was again seeing all the ghosts who were swirling around John... and call me a coward but being immersed in that was not my idea of a fun night. "Or, you know, since you're so sensitive, just let her sleep."

He laughed, in a slightly annoyed way, like it'd been a while since someone had bothered to tease him- or was fearless enough to do it. "See you later."

"I don't doubt it," I said as I walked away, "and that's what has me worried."

* * *

The lights on the Metro were harsh and fluorescent. I was one of the only ones in my car, which rattled along on its tracks between freeway lanes with less finesse than an escaped boxcar. I couldn't see outside the windows unless I concentrated: what I saw, mostly, was my reflection in the smudgy glass. Happily, I only had to ride for a few minutes. I sat with my hand on my chin, thinking over what I'd just done. I was not going back to Pulp for at least another hour: Beeman and Chas could handle themselves until I came back. My aura would not be permanently or hugely altered for the time being, but I was guessing my mood was not changed for nothing.

I was glad there were so few passengers onboard with me- human or otherwise. Everywhere has its small spread of random ghosts who just drifted around aimlessly, even smelly public transportation. Once I'd reached my stop, I exited gratefully into the cool darkness. The house that my brother and I shared was small, and it wasn't in the best neighborhood, but we kept it clean and it was ours. I walked the few blocks to the somewhat secluded row of craftsmen, and the light in our front window was still on. The purple curtains glowed behind the pitted glass.

I didn't bother knocking before I entered, because River- okay, let me just explain now that with him, my parents departed from their desire to name their children very French names, don't ask me why though- was sitting in our very cushy, very old brown leather armchair that sits in the cluttered front room. He was watching the evening news with the expression of a zombie, and had a few textbooks spread out over his thin lap. Unlike me, he was going to college, studying psychology and kicking ass. He went to Cal State LA, but wanted to transfer to an east coast school by the end of next year. He really liked Yale.

"Hey," he said. "You look like a black hole. Were you doing shadow stuff?"

I groaned. I hadn't even stepped all the way through the front door, and already he saw a change. I hung my bag off the coatrack opposite the doorway, and wandered into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. "Yes," I said cautiously.

"With who?" he asked. It was innocent enough- he knew there was no one else I really did magic with besides him. I sipped some Merlot.

"Er- I don't know if it's really a good idea that you-"

River looked up at me through intelligent eyes that were as dark of an emerald as our father's. I had brownish-hazel eyes, which were really nice with my naturally light blond hair, but they were nowhere near as beautiful as River's were. "It was someone with a shitload of power," he remarked prosaically. He would know that even better than me. I knew there were three ghosts who lurked outside on our street, ones that I'd picked up on the very short walk home. They couldn't come in because of my wards- not like they were a danger- but the wards were there for other things. "Who?"

And he'd probably find out sooner or later. Reluctantly, I said, "Constantine."

My little brother's face screwed itself into a confused expression, not because he didn't know who Constantine was, but because I had no connection with the man. I was not someone who did magic casually, and I didn't truly embrace my shadow walking. Whereas River was a psychic adept, and also practiced witchcraft on a regular basis, my own attachment was less strict and had been sporadic until the past few years. That didn't mean I was naïve of that world or its power. Actually, I was quite knowledgeable in a scholastic way.

River was wise enough not to act too surprised. "Okay," he said, though I could tell he was dying to ask more. "When did this happen?"

I arranged myself cross-legged on the floor, managing not to spill any wine on the worn hardwood. "You remember last week, when I told you about the nothing man?" River nodded. "The day after that I went to Midnite's because John's apprentice- the one who works with me- told me John would be interested in what had happened."

The teenager's eyebrows drew together. "So you let John jump your magical bones?"

I chortled. "Hardly. Things got more complicated, and he needed my help with something tonight. Kind of a quid pro quo deal, I guess."

River said tactfully, "Well whatever you did, you kind of tainted yourself... not, like, in a bad way... I mean, you look more like a shadow walker now. And were you doing drugs or something? You're buzzed."

"Since I've never met another one, I wouldn't know, River," I said acridly, dodging the other question. Luckily, since his sister was one, he didn't scoff at manipulators. He was also usually a lot less provocative with me than other brothers were with their sisters. But, we were also all we had left in terms of family, which seemed to draw us closer too.

He gathered up his textbooks and shoved them onto the table next to the armchair. "You let him jump your magical bones," he maintained. Yawning, he put his hands behind his head and reclined the chair.

"I'm not a-" I refused to go with that metaphor- "Tonight's not the first night I've done magic."

"No," River agreed, with his eyes still closed. "But it's the first time in a long time that you've done shadow stuff. He's either pretty special or he has you by the balls. I know it's probably that he has you by the balls-" he said, fast, before I flung what was left of my wine in his face- "but still."


	3. Dangerous Thing

John's apartment was inconspicuous, but fairly easy to find off the directions I had been given. I wandered into the dingy bowling alley with some curiosity, holding a small sheaf of papers- copies I'd made from mythology books and books of black magic, all concerning Balthazar. It was time for John and I to compare notes. I wasn't about to wait for him to show up in my front yard again. My dreams, that was one thing. But River's safety was at stake now. The very last thing I wanted was for the demon to take an interest in my resourceful, headstrong and powerful brother.

It had been so fleeting, honestly. But even only seeing him outside, looking in through the windows, was jarring. I hated the fact that instead of doing something, I'd just cowered in my kitchen, afraid to move until he left... all for fear of attracting attention. I picked my way across the alley, worming around groups of elderly men who jeered and teenagers who looked bored. The place smelled of lemony cleaning agent, cigarettes and mildew.

This elevator hadn't been updated for decades, yet somehow I found myself lifted to John's floor in one piece and without getting stuck. The hallway was narrow, not well lit, and tiled in dusty black and white. At one point, it would have been the epitome of style. Now, the effect was dismally nostalgic. My footsteps echoed because there was hardly any furniture except for some beaten wooden chairs, and there was no rug to absorb the sound. I reached the door at the opposite of the hall and knocked apprehensively. While I waited for an answer, I eyed the frame, which was scratched with sigils I didn't recognize. About a minute passed before I started to get impatient.

I reached out and tentatively opened the door, which creaked forbiddingly but still opened. As I stepped through the threshold, some wards chittered at me angrily, then fizzled out like they'd accepted their new visitor. "Shit," I muttered to myself.

The whole flat was about as outdated as the elevator and the outer hallway. It was basically one long room, with a sort of glass entry set in front of what I thought was the bedroom. Big windows were set with old-fashioned, heavy slats that were controlled by one thick metal rod. The walls were lined with big jugs of water. Given John's profession, they were most likely holy water.

The effect was not homey. And further discouraging me from getting too comfortable were the_ very_ rough sex sounds coming from the far end of the apartment. Okay...

First instinct: back out and return later. Second instinct: be a bitch.

I walked forward with a grin. The sight that greeted me was pretty much what I'd expected, if not with whom- Ellie: I remembered her as the succubus from Midnite's- was splayed on the bed in exactly a position I'd call inhuman. Wasn't that the point? It wasn't until she smirked over at me smirking down at John's admittedly nice ass, that John himself ceased and desisted. When he wrenched around, I had the satisfaction of seeing surprise flash across his usually cool features. Even keeping my gaze resolutely near his face, I saw that he had many tattoos inked over a very defined physique.

"We need to talk," I said.

Well, I'll give him that- he recovered quickly. He leaned back on the bed, completely uncovered, while Ellie scowled and arranged herself under the white down comforter. "Nice to see you," he said at length.

I shrugged. "I knocked."

"The door was locked," he said, rolling to one elbow. I frowned.

"No it wasn't," I slowly insisted, letting my eyes meander. "But that's your problem." Ellie was growing bored with this exchange, and with the body next to her, I couldn't blame her for allowing her attention to wander back to it. She slowly started to busy herself with kissing John's neck. To his credit, it took a bit for him to show a reaction.

Granted, I still wasn't looking too far down. But she was a succubus. I'd cheer the man who wouldn't respond to her for any reason other than a medical inability to respond. I was really trying not to laugh, which I knew showed on my face. Fixing me with his brown eyes, he said, "You broke my wards then." It was halfway between a statement and a question. And it won back some of Ellie's attention.

She stopped gnawing at him and stared at me. Not good.

"They fizzed," I said, exasperated. "I figured that just meant they had cleared me, or whatever. If they were there to guard the door for your sex games, well, sorry for interrupting. Some of us actually use our wards to ward off dangerous things because we can't fight them. Anyway-"

Ellie was chortling at me. "John, she's like a loaded gun with the safety off." To me, she said, "Honey, you _are_ one of the dangerous things, cute as you look."

That was news to me. I hardly felt dangerous at the moment, only aroused and blundering. "Er, what?" I asked. I didn't have anything against her personally, and I should be thanking her for the impromptu peep show I was currently receiving, but she made me feel... uncomfortable. Not quite intimidated. She smiled, and twisted her long, reddish hair back from her face. I guess, if your _raison d'etre_ as a demon was sex, sex and more sex, you'd hardly be ashamed to be found in someone's bed.

She laughed a low, disconcertingly chilling laugh. I blanched. "Get someone to school you, hon, that's all I'm saying. Things are shifting too fast for anybody to be stupid enough to stay ignorant of her own abilities."

"Ellie..." John said warningly, whether for my benefit or his, I didn't know.

She rose gracefully, giving us the benefit of seeing her entire nude, gorgeous form. Languidly, she slipped back into a pretty, black silk dress. Of course, she wasn't wearing any undergarments. "Call me later, John." Her eyes glittered red as she eased her feet into dainty silver sandals, and he nodded mutely. "I can show myself out, thanks to doll-face."

And with that, she faded from sight. A nagging remnant of sulfur clinging to the air was all that was left of her.

"Whatever," I sighed. Doll-face. I look much, sometimes too much, younger than I am. Particularly as a woman, that doesn't bother me very much, not usually. Now John was glaring at me, hopefully because I was a pigheaded interrupter. "I don't trust her, not with what I want to talk about." Continuing a related train of thought, I asked, "Wait. Isn't she with Balthazar?"

To my slight disappointment, John was now searching for his pants, which were actually on the ground directly in front of my feet. "She's not with anybody," John said to my feet as he wrangled his clothing. He stood, dwarfing me by at least a head. I gulped. He was too close for me to not take notice of him, really, which was probably his aim anyway. "This is just what she does. She's with everyone." That was certainly a nice way of saying she was a whore. "It's never personal."

Yeah, and it was probably easier for him to fuck a demon because they weren't as fragile as pesky humans. I counted to ten in my head. He had great arms. To keep from fixating too much, I tallied up our difference in ages. Sadly, it wasn't enough to forestall me. "I know. It's her _thing_." Everyone had a damn_ thing_. "Same as yours is being a ghost magnet and mine is being a nightmare. Aren't you going to put those on?" I gestured to the jeans he had in his hands. Jeans. He had actually been wearing dark, stonewashed jeans. He pursed his lips as though he was trying not to smile. "Not that I mind seeing the full... view." I gave myself a kind of mental shake for even going there. "I really do need to pick your brain about something."

Slowly- a little too deliberately if you ask me- he clothed himself. His lower half, anyway, which allowed me to concentrate better. "What about?"

He straightened up the bed, picked up a white blouse that was still on the floor. I breathed out when he stepped away- I hadn't realized I'd been holding in any air.

But I'm romantically unattached and my sex life is not that exciting, so I can blame my physical needs much more than I can blame my mind. He was lean, but built, and he obviously took care of himself, except for the insane amounts of cigarettes he consumed. Also, not that I would admit this under torture, but sarcasm and coldness will attract me far faster than any courtesy and warmth.

"First- what do you mean I broke your wards?" I was puzzled about that one. He straightened back up, glanced over while giving a funny sort of "tuh" sound, possibly amused because nudity had fried my attention span.

Patiently, he explained, "The wards wouldn't have let anyone in at all. They make the door lock." He shrugged in a fluid gesture. "I usually lock the actual lock too, but I didn't this time. When I shut the door, the spells kick in. Did you know how to crack them?" He brushed passed me and meandered into the kitchen, which turned out to be extremely compact and just as rundown as the rest of the place. The walls were an ugly mottled, olive green. "Now that I'm paying attention, they feel dead."

I followed him to a splintery table, studying the intricate glyphs that stood out in black against his stark white skin. "No. I didn't _crack_ anything." He poured himself a generous glass of what looked to be scotch, stopped, and poured another, slid it over to me. "I doubt I could do it even if I learned. They're yours," I said pointedly. He downed half the glass with barely a flinch.

"But you did. The fact that they were mine didn't stop you. There was_ no_ way you could have gotten in otherwise," he said firmly. "Ordinarily it takes a demon- or an angel- to break them. A half-breed, which you decidedly aren't. But it takes a while. And after that, I can put them back up relatively quickly. But right now? You're interfering. Psychic static."

Desperately, after a little scotch, I asked, "Okay- how am I interfering- or doing- if I don't know I'm doing it?" I put my hands up to placate his annoyed look. I was still holding my many papers; they fluttered like huge feathers. "What I don't know about shadow walking could fill books. I'm not saying I _can't_ do what you're saying, because obviously I have, but I'm painfully ignorant. No one else in my family- that I know of- does what I do. They're like you. I understand you because I understand them. I don't understand what I'm capable of. Ellie was right." John considered my outburst quietly, turning from me to light a damn cigarette. "I don't like not knowing things."

"Loads of people who practice voodoo," he mused, "work for years to do what shadow walkers do. Half breeds love you." He was gentler towards me when he faced me again. "What did you really come here to talk about?"

I downed the scotch with a little cough. "Your favorite friend was in my front yard last night. My brother and I have warded our entire property, yet he could make it within ten feet of our house." I felt my temper flare as I spoke. "Thankfully, he didn't seem to realize how strong of a psychic my brother is. I don't want the shit that's touching Angela touching River. I know you have ways of... evading him. And hurting him, if it comes to that. He didn't even say anything. It was really late, and I had been up to get something to eat. I just saw him out the window."

The cigarette smoked from between the fingers of his right hand. Luckily, he was no stranger to sarcasm and understood my reference. "Yes. You don't have the background to use them." John paused to amend himself. "Well, other than the obvious. Holy water. Sermons."

I stared at him. "Just like that?"

A fly buzzed on the ceiling while John and I watched each other. He had a glint to his eyes that I didn't like; it made me feel like a science experiment or a challenge to work past. "No," he said. "I'm saying you have your own ways too, even if you don't know what they are."

"John, that's kind of my point," I said through gritted teeth, letting my glass sit with a clatter and dropping my paper to the table in a flurry of sheets. "He gets to me in a very acute way. Look, are you just pissed about your wards? Because I can help-"

"No," he said again. "I'm not pissed. About that. Being interrupted mid-coitus does get to me." I thought he was making a joke. He took a long puff, breathed out an obscene amount of smoke. "And actually, I'd be interested to see how you would help set them back up."

"You're kind of evading my main problem here," I said dryly.

"Did it occur to you that Balthazar could drop in any time he wants? You saw how Ellie just went out of here. That's not normal," John snapped. "He's fixated on you, he's been fixated on me for years- we are two people he can pretty much track however, whenever he wants. Especially you." I guess I wouldn't be napping here for the evening then. "Help me get the wards back up, then we can talk. I wouldn't be surprised if she's skipped over to him, complaining that you came here."

"I'll bet," I grumbled.

* * *

I was passed out, halfway between sleep and wakefulness, on the ratty couch in the front part of the apartment when Chas burst through John's door. I squinted over to see him come in with an armload of books and a cardboard mug of Starbucks coffee in his other hand. "Meh," I said intelligently. My limbs were sprawled in all directions, and I barely had the ambition to lift my head. Damn spellcrafting- it really took it out of you when you were out of practice. My muscles felt like jelly, and my brain was buzzing the way your ears do when you've come out of somewhere very loud. And I smelled like grassy herbs, which made me sneeze.

Chas jumped, but not enough to spill his coffee or dump the books. "You found it," he said. It occurred to me that John hadn't needed to physically let Chas into the apartment, which meant that the wards knew him. That was interesting, and it cemented my theory that they were, or had been, romantically together. If not romantically, then sexually. Chas and John, not Chas and the wards. You know what I mean.

"Yep," I said succinctly. He disappeared for a second to put the books down in the kitchen. Then he sat on the end of the couch that I wasn't occupying.

"What did he do to you?" I must have looked a hot mess.

I blinked at him. "Made me fix the wards. 'Cos I broke them."

"Alright... moving past that feat- did he at least help?" Chas asked. "If he didn't, that's a bastard move."

"Believe it or not, he did, and I think that's why I feel this way," I confessed. "I can do my own wards just fine without feeling like I've run a freaking marathon." He drank some coffee, which I could smell from where I was. Starbucks just burnt every bean it had, and called it gourmet.

"Yeah," Chas said thoughtfully. "It's been a while, but he tends to have that effect the first time." Even he could here the rampant things that were wrong with that statement, and he blushed a little once we realized how weird it sounded. I patted his arm.

"If it makes you feel better," came John's voice from somewhere over my head, "you gave me a headache." I looked up to see his face looming over mine.

What we had done was fairly standard- sanctified circle, burning sage and raising energies- so I couldn't for the life of me see why we sounded like we'd just been having crazy sex for six hours. Nothing seemed out of the blue, or different from what River and I did. Obviously another person's flavor of energy took some getting used to, but that shouldn't have... wait. "You... sucked me," I accused, using a derogatory term for somebody who borrowed psychic energy without asking another person. Chas looked at me sharply. Then he looked at John.

I could sympathize if he felt slighted: taking and exchanging energy was incredibly, well, personal. You had to "click" with the other party, meaning that not everyone could use everyone else as a magical battery. In some ways that was very reassuring. I wondered if John had ever borrowed from Chas. I didn't yet have the motivation to be angry, but I felt I should have been.

John looked to be somewhere in the realm just shy of sheepish. I wasn't going to get an apology, was I? "When else am I going to get the opportunity?"

"You could have asked, you know."

"And what would you have said?" Yes, he genuinely wanted to know. He was clearly used to hearing "no" a lot. Well, if the favors he asked weren't life-threatening, that could change.

"I probably would have said yes. If you'd asked," I said. "Although I suppose you're going to say that this is the first time you've gotten to suck from a _manipulator_. And the last, if I snuff it any time soon. I feel like shit. Thanks for that."

Here was the asshole behavior I'd been promised. This was something that should have been consensual, at the very least. It brought two people- or a group, if you went really communal, like some covens tended to- closer together in unpredictable ways. At times that was good. In others, as I'm sure you can imagine, it's just plain detrimental. I was used to that already, seeing as my sleeping hours were like a rush hour commute for the supernaturally inclined. Should I have been used to it, then? People taking without asking?

"I was trying," he said very slowly, "to find a way to help you." Logic was in that. I didn't have to like it. If I was the only person of my kind we both knew, _I_ was the only resource we had. He was the person to mine the resource, that was for sure. "And the wards are tight."

I resisted asking what I felt like. It just sounded dumb even in my head. "They do feel different," Chas agreed reluctantly. John met his eyes and nodded. I sensed some nonverbal communication going on between the two men. "John, the books are here. If you want them. For Angela and stuff. Some are from Bee- the rest are from the store." The police still hadn't found the Bible the nothing man had stolen, which didn't surprise me one inch. Problematically, John assured me that _that_ was what we really needed, if only because the demon had wanted it. What could be so important that a demon would steal it? Beeman had said that maybe he could find another copy. I wasn't holding my breath, but if he could, then more power to him. I hoped it would be of some use before anything went very wrong.

"Thanks, kid," John said, a warmth to his ragged voice that made me happy. He really cared for Chas. That was good; it meant he was human like the rest of us.

"No problem," Chas said wryly.

"I wish I could take a nap like normal people," I groaned.

John chuckled. "Try," he advised.

I raised an eyebrow at him, which was the most eloquent indication of disbelief I could manage while lying down. "No."

"One of the reasons I, uh, _sucked_ you," he said, "was to see if I could build-in a ward against trespassing. It was you screening Angela's dream that gave me the idea."

"What?" I asked blankly.

"You think you're the only one who gets invaded while she sleeps?" John said down to me, grimly amused. "It happens to us laymen too, sometimes. I'm thinking that since you can facilitate it so well, you can also block it the best if you know where- or how- to direct the block. I know you didn't have the training to do it on purpose, so I borrowed and did it for you. I don't have the patience to cultivate anyone right now. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. But I'm not usually mistaken. I fed the intent into my wards. You can be the guinea pig."

"Oh," I said in an extremely small voice. Who would have thought he'd think of that? Not me. It wasn't blatantly selfish, either. Maybe we were making some progress.


	4. Blown a Wish

The first thing I dreamed about was a woman.

She was a small, fragile looking creature, but her dark green eyes radiated a palpable energy that I could see even from where I was. Where was that, exactly? I rubbed sleep from my face. Oh right- John's couch. The only thing that was slightly out of the ordinary was that the couch was, of all places, in the middle of some gorgeous, enclosed courtyard that looked vaguely European. The hot, damp air around me smelled like mimosa blossoms and, strangely, coffee.

I knew it was a dream when I woke up on someone's couch, outdoors, in a place I'd never seen. It is a mark of how bizarre I am that I took this with a Zen sort of nonchalance, before thinking, John's wards didn't work for me.

I felt curiously disappointed.

Feeling also that a supine position would not be the best one if some nasty thing had come to play with me, I propped myself up so that I was at least sitting, not laying, against the fat cushions. Warily, I watched the tiny woman approach me, tottering even with the aid of her cane. She stopped almost a foot before me, eying me with an expression of mingled amusement and sternness. There was something about those eyes, set in a tanned face amid a sea of wrinkles, that made her familiar in a way I could not place.

Finally, she pronounced, "Well, you've done the best you can, haven't you, girl?" It was the thickest accent I'd heard in a long time- very Cajun. The ends of words were nearly entirely neglected, giving a liquid cadence to her speech. She wore a lurid blue dress that was spangled with yellow daisies.

"The best I can with..."

She guffawed. "Oh, just life."

"Ye-ah," I said. Was she a ghost who'd come to call? I looked around the courtyard. The intricate iron railings on the second story balcony were painted a deep indigo. Bougainvillea snaked their way up trellises and railings alike, wrapping bright pink blossoms and thorny vines around everything. It looked to be just about nightfall, that ambiguous time between dusk and night itself. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere your blood remembers," the old lady said, quite cheerfully. That sounded a little bit on the perverse side, but I didn't want to try and dictate the terms of conversation.

"Okay. Who're are you?" Dumb question, maybe.

"Oh child, those wards are working," she said dismissively, like she could see into the blurry mess that was my mind right now. "In point of fact, they helped draw me to you." Off my incomprehension, she elaborated, "Yes, I'm quite dead. Been dead for longer than I was alive." She sat down on the same side of the couch Chas had occupied earlier. "I'm a _grandmere_ of yours- forget how many greats I have to add in, fewer if I go off of your father- on your father's side. Rosalie."

Suspiciously, I said, "But I thought... dad wasn't born in France then?" It was possible that, just like any other family, my own had several branches we just didn't know about. My father had also had a Cajun accent, not so obvious as this one, and I'd always chalked it up to his years in Louisiana. Many Cajun and Creole children learn French (or Creole, especially if their family is from, say, some of the Caribbean islands or Haiti) alongside English, and I was no exception. I didn't use it anymore, but you might say I had a knack still for French. I thought languages were really fun anyway.

"Your mother, yes. Your father, no. He was born in a little town- more of a settlement, really- none too far from New Orleans." The way she said "New Orleans" made me grin. "None of this is strictly relevant, young lady."

How would it not be, to me- when this was the very, very first time any dead relative had contracted me? I'd never once heard, or seen, my mother or father. By the way, they hadn't died particularly traumatically: my father suffered a heart attack when I was sixteen, and Mom was in a car accident with her best friend a year ago. The friend had died too, only she'd clung to life for another two days.

I shook my head. Everything was relevant, provided this woman really was who she said she was. I had my doubts, but staging this would be very elaborate for the most powerful demon, especially since I'd never seen this place or this woman in my entire life. There was no prior knowledge to take from me and shape into a convincing lie. As though she was peering into my brain, Rosalie scowled.

I said, "Sorry, I don't get this." I swept an arm around at our scenery. "And forgive me for being suspicious, but I've done some stuff recently that's attracted attention. I didn't mean to."

Was that pity in her look? I mean, I was taking heart in the fact that she was actually having a conversation with me, instead of a) attacking me or b) ignoring my presence as she dragged a body behind her, or was followed by a swarm of some class of flying demon. "This is where I feel most comfortable talking to people," Rosalie said simply.

"And you need to talk to me."

"Briefly."

"About?"

"Your ability."

I drew my next breath in sharply. "Could you... were you a manipulator?"

"My husband was. I was a mambo."

"A voodoo priestess," I said flatly.

"Yep," said Rosalie happily, with a flick of her feet. "Not a special one, or anything, in particular."

This was completely beyond anything I'd expected. "So, you know how I work."

"More than you, maybe, but still not enough because everyone is always different," said Rosalie, watching as fireflies began to surface and glimmer. "Your _grandpere_, he was a quiet man. A very cornered man. Much like your Constantine." Her eyes flicked back to me. "Lots of pain behind the quiet."

"He's not mine," I protested readily. "We've just started... working together."

She had River's eyes! That was it. "You think that's coincidence, do you _chere_?"

I'd been starting to wonder that myself, back in the dormant part of my brain that I don't prefer to listen to. This dream also felt different from any of the others, which held things I was not supposed to see. Things I didn't want to see. This one felt right, in the sense that it was supposed to be mine. The couch was a nice touch, too: it gave everything a Surrealist aesthetic. "No," I admitted. "I don't think you're a coincidence either."

Rosalie patted my knee. "I'm not. You're a tough person to get to." Well, that was plain ironic. Here I was, with everyone plodding through my head whenever they wanted, and here she was, saying I was hard to get to. Maybe we were operating on different channels. I wondered, if she were to try River instead, would it be easier to get through? The dead aren't my vehicle of choice the way they are his. My mind reeled with the possibilities. "But about your power: use it as much as you can."

Possibly, that was what everybody heard about their power. "I don't think it's that easy."

"No," Rosalie said, "but it might become easier, and it might be in time."

"In time for what?"

"Preventing the world from becoming a living Hell," said Rosalie serenely, after clearing her throat. And that cleared that up: the dead officially had somewhere else to be other than our world. I felt only a fuzzy recognition of what she'd just said. I had no clue what it even meant. There were so many ways it could be interpreted.

My laughter was hysterical, and I had to curl back up into a ball. "Oh, spectacular." My distant female relative petted my hair like I was an animal who needed to be soothed.

"I can't say no more," Rosalie said softly. "And you got to wake up now."

* * *

I opened my eyes. I'd really spent the whole afternoon sleeping on John's couch. In his apartment. (He must have been thrilled.)

It was night now: my watch told me it was ten past two. I was surprised I hadn't been thrown out into the hallway, or roughly woken up and driven home. Blearily, I gathered all my thoughts about the dream I'd just come out of. Why had Rosalie told me I needed to wake up? As far as I was concerned, that was a crime. I'd just gotten more sleep than I'd had in a whole week. My eyes adjusted to the darkness that was punctuated only by the ambient streetlight falling gently in through the open window slats.

The darkness felt... wrong, somehow. Heavier? Noiselessly, I crept up from the couch and plodded to John's bedroom.

Just before I crossed the threshold, I felt a large, cold hand close over my mouth and I shrieked against it. Stupid reaction, really, when I knew the wards hadn't been broken. Still, the whole atmosphere felt charged.

He breathed harshly into my ear, "Shut _up_. There's something downstairs."

Why weren't we downstairs then? And why were we acting like we were hiding from S.S. Officers? Surely he had enough weaponry to deal with whatever it was. I thought a little. There was one problem with that. The bowling alley was not at all in a secluded location. And when you'd had as much police attention as John, you most likely didn't want any more of it.

"Mmph?" I said, and he took his hand away, putting a finger to his lips.

"And at the fucking windows," he said, slightly more audibly. He gestured, and I looked. Anticlimactically, I saw nothing, but he obviously saw some sort of threat. "You're trouble. If this is your trouble, that is." He didn't sound perturbed; I could have sworn he sounded mildly excited.

We weren't very far from each other, so I could speak very quietly. "Isn't Bee down there?" I hadn't been too clear on where the guy lived, but from what I could gather it was somewhere in the building.

"His hackles are raised- same as ours," said John... not that it was very clarifying.

"Why are we being so... why are we hiding?" I demanded.

That was when I saw he gave off a faint glow: his magic was buffering through his body. I noticed the glow after noticing he was wearing only a pair of boxers. God, I was worse than a teenage boy. "Attracting attention isn't always good," he said obliquely. This coming from the man who strode down the street every day deporting demons back to Hell. I barely kept from rolling my eyes.

A crackle of magic tingled in the air. "Someone's trying to break the wards," I said, after feeling a small pull on my aura. I was sure that was it. It wasn't very nice; in fact, it stung, kind of like a bad paper cut. "So, there are things waiting outside, and something trying to crack the locks."

John's eyes glinted in the low light. While I couldn't see him entirely clearly, except for the faint, constant glow, I could make out his eyes. The stinging sensation continued, which began to piss me off. My instinct was to fight it, so I did. In some weird bend of logic, that only made it feel worse. But John said, urgently, "Whatever you're doing- don't stop." Then, I felt a pressure being added to my own resistance, something cool and resolute. From the way John had gone taut, I rightly concluded the pressure came from him. We were basically adding a bulwark to the, well, bulwark. This whole learning from experience thing was interesting, because in reality I didn't know exactly what we were doing... only that it was working. Best way to learn. Learn fast or die, right?

A few more minutes came and went, and the ominous weight in the air totally lifted. Apparently, the menace at the windows dissipated: John made it over to the glass in easy steps, and smirked at what he saw. He turned back to me, and I found I was sweating from effort. "Your anti-trespassing clause worked. I'm going back to bed." Too much magic. I'd done too much magic today: I felt shaky, like I'd caught the flu. Was this the cost of tapping into my natural inclinations? "I'll be gone in the morning." I stopped myself and leaned on the door. "Wait. I should probably tell you something."

"What?" He approached me.

I gulped. "I had a dream. One of my relatives was in it. She... mentioned something about the world becoming a living Hell."

Silence fell. "What if it was just a real dream?" he asked dangerously. "Or what if it was something else?"

"I don't have normal dreams," I said. "Ever. She said the thing we did with your wards helped her come through to me." My eyes narrowed. "I'm not dumb. I had thought of it."

John sniffed; he was almost as close to me as he'd been before. I shifted uncomfortably and met his eyes. He'd inclined his head towards mine, and I didn't think it had much to do with the speaking volume required. Even in my state, I felt my heart beat faster. Certainly, he was easy on the eyes.

I had the nagging thought that I was another exotic pelt to add to his harem of bizarre lovers: the reputation this man had was either admirable or repulsive. I couldn't make my mind up as to which. It depended on your views, and I didn't have my scales handy to weigh the balance.

We regarded each other steadily, during which time the distance between our faces closed to mere centimeters. "I'll let people know."

The demons had to know _something_. Ellie with her snide hints. Definitely Balthazar, if he was so all-important. Were there people from the other side we could tell? If there were demons, there had to be angels around too. But I'd been told there was a balance, and what was happening now was upsetting it. John didn't particularly believe in any balance anymore- he seemed to feel it was beneath him- and having just learned about it myself, I wasn't sure what to think.

"That'll help? What the _fuck_ do we do about something like that?" If it turns out to be true, I reminded myself.

"Stop it," said John.

I laughed the same hysterical laugh I'd given Rosalie. "Easy, yeah?" I quelled my giggles.

"Hopefully," he said. "I don't get much of a choice either way, but I'm sure everyone else who does, doesn't want to end up in a Hell on earth." His voice forbade any sympathy, but it was such an odd statement, I raised my eyebrows in a question.

"I'm a damn suicide," he said callously. And that explained a lot in a very short amount of time. The idiot was trying to buy his way back into Heaven. I'd never heard of anything so desperate, sad, or commendable. Note to self: don't commit suicide. Everything your parents told you about killing yourself was true.

"You're not dead now."

His brittle smile made me wince. "Ah, they brought me back." He eyed the hair that hung in my face: it must have been pretty tangled, considering I'd just been curled up on a sofa for like seven hours. "God doesn't care how long you're dead. If you've killed yourself, that's the end of it." Was he telling me this so I'd feel sorry for him? Probably not, but this was a different conversation to have when you were trying to seduce someone. In our world, this wasn't such an different conversation after all.

He licked his lips; I threw down the impulse to nip one of them. Stupid, stupid. I blinked, looked back up into his eyes. The door, at my back, creaked before it clunked against the wall. Aside from this being an abrupt time to find a new fling, it was also dangerous for me to have this particular man as a fling. Shadow walking might parry whatever supernatural energies he brought into play, I thought wildly. And Chas was not a ghost. Yet. I felt John's arms rest on my shoulders. Fuck.

"Not the best idea," I said, pleased that my voice hadn't come out as unsteady as I thought it would. I wanted to know how many people he'd been with. Not in a gross way. I was just curious. How many were still alive?

"No," he said, but he didn't exactly encourage me to go about my business when he added, "Why do you care?"

Sternly, I reminded myself that I was not astounding (this was routine for John, for all I knew), it was the heat of the moment, magic was pulsing between us with a false sense of closeness... blah, blah, blah. All those things we tell ourselves when we're trying to rationalize good behavior. Although- I'm not in the habit of one night stands, especially with someone who could both kill you at will, and habitually slept with beings who weren't even on his philosophical side. That was really twisted to my way of thinking. Yes, I did mean Balthazar and Ellie.

Fine, so getting the two dudes in bed _might_ have given me reason to reconsider, and they'd probably kill each other before they thought of me. If I couldn't be in between them, hey, I could watch.

"Oh, I have lots of reasons," I whispered. "A few to start with? The ghosts that are lurking just over your shoulder." They never truly left. Currently, it was like being crowded by voyeurs, and on a less humorous level: they were a very tangible reminder of what John did with himself. Out of nowhere I had a random bout of furious behavior while more reasons came to me. It'd been a bad week, okay? My voice got louder and more vehement. "The demons. That's just plain masochistic. If you want to deport them, just fucking do it already and stop screwing them." Truth was, this whole new dimension of the world I was experiencing scared me. I think it was just catching up with me. "Your priorities are messed up."

I inhaled, trying to get a grip. But I'd just blown a fuse, or something. I felt energy building up and seeping out of my pores. At least I wasn't glowing? He felt it too- a dull, burning tingle close to pins and needles- because the next minute his arms weren't around my shoulders anymore, his fingers not twined in my mess of hair; they were hanging at his sides. I'd investigate that later: he was kind of a magical conduit anyway, so I wasn't surprised that if I was giving off anything, he'd received it.

And then I thought I might be strangled for saying all of that: anger, quite simple and undiluted, flared in his expression. His hands clenched. I flinched. But all he said- in a mild tone- was, "Go back to sleep." Perhaps nobody had told him to go fuck himself quite so eloquently, and he could make neither heads nor tails of it. I couldn't. "It's not coming back tonight."

"Er- good night then," I said awkwardly, feeling the color rise in my cheeks. Which, possibly, wasn't the only thing rising, but I wasn't about to find out and tempt myself more than I had already. Hooray for having moral caliber.

Before I could go away, he kissed me: enough of a kiss so that it wasn't chaste, but not insistent enough to make me want to hit him. His lips were warm. He was definitely not a gentleman, I decided, as if I'd had any lingering hopes. I'd have more room to protest if I wasn't busy kissing back.

* * *

I yawned over the enormous caramel coffee concoction (two extra shots, caramel on the bottom, not the top) Chas had brought me. Today was another slow day. We both listlessly watched a short girl with long, bleach-blond hair dressed up in goth attire comb through the section on Wicca. She was, unfortunately, a walking stereotype. Poor girl. Momentarily, I realized Chas was enthusiastically talking to me. "What?" I asked, his face coming back into focus. Today he wasn't even wearing his hat.

"I said, you and John- did you, ah, make any headway last night?"

That was it. He knew. My freaking aura, or some other mystical thing, told him we'd made out. Progressed to slightly more than that in spite of all my better judgment. "Yes? Well, no. Um-"

The exorcist's apprentice gawked at me like I'd sprouted an extra head. Understanding dawned in his slightly tanned face. He smiled all too knowingly, a rat scenting cheese. "With the magic," he clarified, like he was talking to a mentally slow person.

I perked right up. His bright eyes weren't suspicious, or even exactly annoyed. I scanned them briefly to see if he was feeling me out- because I felt a little guilty. I was quickly gleaning that relationships in the occult world weren't always like "normal" ones. Everyone had basically slept with everyone else: a little like eighteenth century European nobility. Don't ask, don't tell- but everyone knows- at its finest. If you're attached to someone, that seems to be okay, but not the usual.

"Not really. Something tried to get in to the apartment at about half past two. He said it was downstairs, and there was something at the windows, but I couldn't see it." I swirled my very hot drink in my hands to mix the milk and caramel. "I had a dream about my great-great-great times like five grandmother."

"So the wards didn't work?" Chas asked, pulling a face. "That sucks."

"She said they did," I shrugged. "She dropped a hint about what might be happening around here- said something about earth being turned into a Hell."

He busied himself putting price stickers on the stack of books in front of him, like that was an ordinary thing to tell somebody. "You believe her? Like, she wasn't a demon or something?"

I crossed my arms, a little defensively. "I just know she wasn't." Chas, immediately contrite- I noticed we really did have almost the same social relationship as River and I had- shook his head.

"Sorry, I've just been trained to take nothing at face value. Even pretty little shadow walkers," he said, grinning. I did look more girlie than I had since the night at Midnite's: today was very warm, so I was wearing a white sort of sundress that had an overlay of cream-colored lace. It was literally the most feminine thing I had in my closet, and it was good to wear to Pulp because it fit in with all the vintage stuff we had laying around.

"Especially pretty little shadow walkers," I muttered.

"True."

The goth girl finished perusing her corner, and left without buying anything. That was happening more and more often, which didn't bode well for business. It was already seven, and I contemplated closing. We'd only made three sales since we'd opened at one. At least one sale was a two-hundred dollar edition of Edgar Allen Poe. Just when I was about to suggest this to Chas, Angela rushed in. Chas and I stared at her. "Oh good, you're here," she said to me. Her long dark hair was back in a clip and she wasn't in uniform, but we could see she was clearly on the job right now.

"Me?" I said, unnecessarily. I was becoming so popular nowadays. I thought she'd never want to see me again, after what I'd forced her to admit. "Yeah, I'm always here. I don't have a life."

"I need a favor," she said, a little crossly. I wouldn't want a favor from me either.

"What sort of favor?"

Angela sighed, looking at me with a slight plea in her face. "It might not be a favor- there's something I need you to look at... and you," she said to Chas, "You work with John Constantine, right?"

Chas nodded, still nonplussed. "Yeah, although I'm more like his unpaid driver and slave all rolled into one tidy package. But you could call it working with him."

"I'll do what I can," I said uncertainly. "You know he'd be the one to help, though." If she needed occult knowledge, I could help, but John would be the ideal one to ask. A dark look came into her greenish brown eyes.

"Yeah, I know," she said in her brusque way, "but I don't want him at a crime scene. He's got enough on his record; I don't need my supervisor taking him in for some dumb reason. Not right now." She shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Please come?"

A crime scene? Oh boy.


	5. Don't Fear the Reaper

**A/N: **So, my spring break is at an end, which may mean my updates become slow again. Sad day. But please keep checking back! I love this story and I suspect I'll complete it. Thanks so, so much for your reviews and support. :)

* * *

After struggling through rush hour traffic to get deeper downtown, Chas, Angela and I made it to a seedy corner corner bar that I assumed was the site of the crime scene. The neighborhood left a lot to be desired; I half expected a crack whore to come staggering out of nowhere and brandish a rusty knife at us. As we stepped out of Angela's glossy black SUV, I glanced around cautiously. Police weren't swarming the place yet, but there were a few other investigators, including the middle-aged brunette cop who'd interviewed me, Inspector Weiss. When he saw Chas and I, his frown deepened. I gathered my tan, knit sweater around me, steeling myself for having to make up a very good lie.

Angela, though- walking right past him- said, "They're fine. We won't be here long." I smiled sheepishly. Weiss scowled, but seemed to be loathe to correct her.

The inside of the bar was just as shabby as the outside, and it looked like it hadn't seen a good cleaning in decades. It was stubbornly stuck in the sixties, with a décor that just howled kitsch. That wasn't the most pertinent thing I noticed about the place, especially when my eyes kept getting drawn to the ambiguous shapes in the corner under the dartboard. In the low, yellowish light, they looked human. Two bodies were crumpled on top of each other, and were very clearly dead. The faces had been mashed into unrecognizable pulps. One of the corpses had an eyeball that was lolling out of its socket, attached by an angry pink tendon. Chas, behind me, groaned.

I inched closer and held my nose. It smelled like stale urine, old blood, and chewing tobacco in here, and the bodies didn't smell any better after the day's heat. "They've been here a while," I said. I was no expert on dead bodies but they just didn't smell right. Chas walked around me and peered at them.

"The owner came in to open and found them," Angela explained. "He says they were members of staff; they were supposedly prepping for the night."

"Did they do this to each other?" asked Chas.

She shook her head. "No- but there's no sign of forced entry, a break-in... nothing."

The dangling eyeball was fascinating to me, morbidly speaking. It twisted minutely when Chas and I moved and sent small ripples through the air. Suddenly something else, thank God, caught my attention. "Tattoos- look." I grabbed Chas by the arm and pointed. There were twined black designs on both- yeah, they were both men- men's tanned forearms. They were similar to sigils, and I was sure I'd seen symbols like them before in books.

"Exactly," Angela said, lowering her voice so that the cops outside couldn't hear. "It sounds stupid, but they didn't look- well, normal. I wanted someone who had a better knowledge than me to see them. There have been too many... odd... deaths in too short of a time." She didn't need to elaborate. We were all feeling creepy now. "I'm sorry you can't move the bodies to sketch the designs or anything."

"Was anything stolen?" said Chas.

"It's a bar," I said dismissively. But he was so mellow that he only shrugged and looked at Angela.

"Not from the bar, and we don't have much way of knowing if something was taken from these guys."

Abruptly, I'd had enough of being inside. Dizziness swept over me like a wave.

Without a word I turned from the other two and bolted for the side door, which was a far cry closer than the front door. The balmy night air rushed against my face and I was thankful for the breeze. I knelt on the rough sidewalk on my bare knees, trying to gather my thoughts and dispel the nausea that surged in my system. I really liked this dress and I was not about to ruin it. My hands clenched the curb and I was only half aware of my surroundings. Two nicely shoed feet in expensive looking black Oxfords were beneath my nose just when I was trying to make up my mind if I wanted to puke or not. I hadn't eaten much.

Glancing up through a curtain of my hair, I saw Balthazar towering above me. Or, towering in a hyperbolic way because I was on the ground. The demon wasn't very tall.

Well, this was just drastically unpleasant. "I'd move your feet before I throw up on them," I snapped.

He smiled down at me beatifically. "Good evening to you too."

"Nothing's all that good about it," I said, bringing myself up and dusting off my legs.

He was dressed to kill tonight in an olive green suit that was perfectly tailored to his svelte frame. I didn't question how he'd gotten here, since I was on his radar and there was also a gleaming red M3 parked on the opposite curb, which stuck out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood of rust-buckets. It was probably brand new. I could hear the police officers on the other side of the building start to get down to business.

"Not yet," he said, raising an eyebrow. His manner towards me seemed to have shifted: he seemed less eager to plow through my brain, for one thing. The power tweaks I'd come to associate with him were dormant. For now. I remembered what River had said about me looking more like a shadow walker. But he was also less domineering, which I didn't trust a whit.

My attention strayed to the bar as I asked, "Oh no?"

Chas could come out any minute, and while I didn't think he'd be as aggressive as John might be, he wouldn't appreciate seeing me with Balthazar either. And putting Angela in front of the manipulative half-breed would be like placing a cupcake in front of a diabetic at a birthday party. I wasn't going to let that happen if I could help it. I turned to him and waited for his undoubtedly self-serving answer.

A glittering coin snaked its way through his long fingers with soft, metallic flicking sounds. I tapped my foot nervously. I still felt like being around him was like being around a particularly mellow and attractive, but terribly poisonous snake. Being accosted in a more public place felt less invasive than being stalked around my own house, but still. He watched me with an amused expression, then put the golden coin in a pocket. I stopped tapping my foot and kept myself still.

"No," Balthazar said. "And it's a little off-subject, but- you're different this time." Ranging his eyes up and down my body, not without some lasciviousness, he walked around me in a slow circle. While I knew he was scanning my aura, he was also taking pleasure in checking me out. "Been doing magic?"

"A little," I admitted.

"Why?"

"I have to," I said ambiguously.

"That's not all of it," he said musingly, as if he'd nearly cracked a math problem but not quite gotten the answer. He tapped a finger on his chin. I shrugged. "Been getting laid?"

That question just didn't surprise me the way it should have. I had to smile. I'm not sure if it was a pretty one. "Not quite." My mind flashed to a little less than twenty-four hours ago in John's apartment. "Apparently it wasn't the right time."

He laughed at my truthfulness. If there's one thing I have the penchant for, it's being truthful. Interestingly, it also makes me a good liar. "That's a shame. Your partner," he said, courteously avoiding any gender specific terms, "is a fool." Well, yeah, he was that. My cheeks grew faintly warm.

"Thank you," I said cautiously.

"Come out with me tonight," Balthazar offered. It wasn't so much an offer as a mandate. I didn't suspect I'd get a choice here, which he knew I realized, but he had to maintain his veneer of politeness after all. I silently ticked off the ways this would be a bad- no, a terrible- move. One, he could seriously injure me. Two, he could twist my abilities. Three, he could kill me. Four, he could do all of those things in extremely painful ways. Ways that might make the corpses in the bar look like child's play.

Yet, if I was smart (and even by taking this chance I'd be dancing on the knife's edge) I could possibly get some information out of this being. He was obviously very intrigued by me, I knew that much. I wasn't above using my physical charms to score some points for the good guys, because we definitely needed them. Days of poking around dusty old books was starting to take its toll. Even if what Rosalie had said wasn't true, no one could ignore the uncomfortable feeling that the veil between planes was shifting, blowing, and becoming too thin. We just didn't know exactly _why_.

"Sure," I said. "Just a minute."

"Take your time," he said with a nod.

I dug my cell phone out of my sweater pocket and punched in the number Chas had given me. He picked up after the first ring. "Hey, did you go out back?"

"Yeah, but listen," I said quickly. I didn't want either of them to come over here. "I er, I have a date. Now." Balthazar was listening curiously.

"You... do?" Chas was perplexed, trying to work out how that had happened in, oh, thirty minutes when fifteen of those had been spent in a room with dead people and a psychic cop. I also didn't want to mention his name in front of my newfound companion. "Oh, okay. Where you going?"

"I'm not sure yet," I said honestly.

"Alright." Over the phone, he sounded suspicious.

"I'll see you later," I said firmly. "Tell our ride. Bye."

That ended what was officially my most awkward phone conversation. I smiled at Balthazar, this time my nice, man-eating smile. "Where _are_ we going in that wonderful car of yours?"

* * *

I guess I didn't really need to ask. Midnite's was crowded even though it was still a little early for the hardcore crowd to be in, and when people saw I was with Balthazar I didn't get the same cold reception I had before. Apparently, being a manipulator was more okay if you'd found a half-breed to hook up with. Or maybe it was just Balthazar. I was lucky I'd worn something nice. Although I didn't blend in with any of the women, who all seemed to favor racier, more provocative dresses, I still looked expensive enough to be here.

"So, did you know there were bodies in that bar?" I asked lightly.

We were unofficially shown to a table in the corner, where we could see everyone come in and our backs were to the silver tinsel strewn wall. I sat opposite Balthazar and slung my purse on the back of the chair. No one was going to steal it, not tonight.

"Not until I got there- then I could smell them from outside," he said easily. "I came because that's where you were."

Ew. Too bad you couldn't put wards on yourself. You could put them almost anywhere- a car, a building, a room, a residence, even a bicycle- but on people themselves, they were useless. Life energy overloaded wards, since that's what they were made of. I tried not to let my revulsion show. I also had the faint sense that he was lying about the bodies. Maybe he hadn't killed them himself, but he might have known who did. The fact I was there later was only a fortunate coincidence. Why else would Balthazar, Mr. Park Avenue, be in an armpit of Los Angeles?

Our drinks came promptly, brought by a purple haired, tan waif of a waitress who had the telltale red luminescent eyes of a half-breed. Sitting with him certainly had its perks. My drink was a gin and tonic, his looked to be a Bloody Mary. I didn't want to consider too closely the nature of the blood part of the cocktail. I welcomed the burn of alcohol down my throat.

"Your sense of smell is more developed?" I asked delicately, not knowing if this was a sore spot with non-humans or not. He chuckled and leaned in across the table, which made my skin crawl. But damn him- ha, I guess so- he was attractive.

"Yes," he murmured, fixing my eyes with his. He took a deep breath. "Right now, for instance, I'll take you. You put on some perfume this morning- Jicky, I think- but it's so faded hardly anyone is noticing it. It's lingering from between your breasts, mixing with sweat. Earlier in that disgusting bar you were scared, so I smell fear." He traced the line of my neck with his gaze. "You've been doing magic, shadow walking, so there's that. A twinge of lust now." His look asked me- How am I doing so far?

My mother's old bottle of Guerlain's Jicky was so worn that even I couldn't read the name on it anymore, and I'd put on the perfume so long ago today I didn't expect anyone else to smell it by now. I drank deeply, taken aback by the way my smell could tell him all of this. Lust, my ass. He'd have to do a little more than this to up the lust factor. And stop twitching back into his demon persona every other five minutes or so. I don't know if it was just me who could catch that or what. I wasn't going to mention it.

Ah, I'd have to eat my thoughts because he reached out to stroke my bare arm- I'd shed the sweater in the humidity of the club. His hands were very warm. I guess that made sense since he was a creature from hell. Having cold hands wouldn't make any sense. It had gotten progressively darker in here, but fortunately they weren't doing a repeat of the rave experiment so I had no trouble making out his face. It was pristine, as usual, something off the cover of G.Q.

And it was hungry in all senses of the word. Balthazar, I decided, was just an exceptionally greedy demon: I could almost feel the desire rolling off of him. Desire for me physically, but primarily because I was something new to him. He wanted to sleep with me because he'd never slept with someone like me before, simple as that. He thought I was pretty. He thought my body looked delicious. (His word, not mine.)

That's when it clicked. He was trying to influence me like he had on that first night, but he couldn't. Had he figured it out yet? I studied him. No, I told myself, he hadn't. It was weird because now, instead of feeling an intent to do something myself, I felt what was motivating him to try and motivate me. It followed that because I'd done more magic- not even much- that I had more of a defense up.

"I want to kiss you," he said in a low voice. This was part of the manipulating. He didn't brutalize people until after he'd caught them. I saw the pattern and it was remarkably well thought out. Well, he'd had years.

"Yes," I said, thinking, Shit, this really has to work... I will never let myself live is down if it's not useful.

Our lips met and it was instantly intoxicating, like physical contact had to be made for his influence to truly infiltrate. He expected it to help, I could tell. I mean, it felt amazing and all- the demon could kiss like a house ablaze- but I couldn't shake the thought that this was a dangerous pastime for me to take up. He pulled back from me after some time, having obviously enjoyed himself, but there was a haze of disbelief on his face. Yup- he'd been trying to put the whammy on me and it hadn't played out as he'd expected. I opened my mouth to speak, closed it.

"What kind of magic have you been doing?" he asked finally, looking at me like I was an amusing puzzle. "You taste wonderful, by the way."

Whether that was referring to my physical taste, or something else, I had no clue.

"Wards," I said in a slow voice, looking at him like he'd properly cowed me with his kissing expertise. Surely that wasn't an incriminating thing. Everyone did wards, for Heaven's sake. So it wouldn't seem like I was being evasive on purpose, I added, "Unfortunately when you start to work with... my kind of abilities... that draws things to you that you'd rather avoid." Like you, Balthazar, like you. "But I've found that ignoring my abilities has become imprudent."

"Who've you been working with?" he wanted to know.

There was a sharp undercurrent to his tone that hadn't been there before we kissed. Yes. It might be self-evident since he'd fought, had sex with, tried to kill, and lusted after the person I'd been working with. I'd be stupid to lie. Would it be too bitchy to say out loud that he already knew? Could we just go back to kissing? I managed what I hoped was a vampy smirk. Playing the pretty female who slept around to get the job done, I purred, "Constantine. You want the toughest wards, why work with another novice?"

The only reaction I got to that was a flare of Balthazar's nostrils.

"You know," Balthazar said quietly, "Your magic, it's more... collected."

That could have been, again, due to the way I'd actually cultivated it and not ignored it recently. Of course there was always the chance John had done something to me without my knowing; I wouldn't put it past him. If it helped me shield myself from this freak in front of me, then I was okay with it. Balthazar wasn't saying what he was thinking, that he was annoyed with the newly impervious me. I glanced desperately over his lean shoulder.

Maybe I'd summoned him by mere mention, because the next person to walk through Midnite's door was John. This was going to be interesting in a horrifically ironic way. Ellie, whom I hadn't noticed when Balthazar and I'd come in, came from somewhere out of the woodwork and joined his side. I got the impression that he was one of her favorites. To my extreme displeasure, Balthazar and I were extremely visible. This corner table wasn't meant to hide people; it was meant to display them.

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" I said, rather rhetorically. He didn't answer right away, and continued to gaze at me in an interested but irked way. Our barmaid brought us second drinks and whisked away our empty glasses.

"I think so," Balthazar said politely, even though he didn't. "Johnny Boy is here now, isn't he? I can feel him." I should have expected his next move, but I didn't. He took my face in his hands and resumed kissing me with borderline indecency. I'm ashamed to say I didn't dislike it. Men. When heat had stopped coursing its way through my body and I grabbed hold of my brain, I pulled myself away from his grip and glared at him.

Before I could reprimand, slight, or otherwise show my intolerance for this situation- mining a demon for tidbits be damned- I heard Ellie's laughter coming from somewhere to our left. I put a hand to my forehead in frustration before daring to look in the direction of the sound. She was there, all right, in a forest green sheath dress, and hanging off John's arm. John, far from looking like he was going to laugh, was rigid and stony faced.

This was probably because of my choice in partners more than me having one, but I immediately understood why no one mentioned Balthazar in front of him very often. His dark eyes emitted a hot, pure hate. I wriggled my chair a little farther away from the table, but since I was against the wall, there wasn't much room.

And fuck. "She's _cute_, right, Balthazar? You got some before I could!" Ellie exclaimed in her throaty voice. "Hi, doll-face." Sexual orientation was so fluid here. If I was a lesbian, I'd be so excited. But I'm not gay, so there that went. I flashed her a weak smile and a peace sign. "You're looking delectable." I suppose that was one way of looking at my lacy ensemble, better suited to a flirty day at the fair than a sultry half-breed bar.

"Thanks," I said. "Same to you." I gestured at her gorgeous outfit. It was definitely not off-rack.

"Oh yes, very cute," Balthazar said, running his tongue around the rim of his glass and making sure John saw it. "So sweet."

The air was starting to get more charged. I suspected a silent magical pissing contest was taking place between the two males. It might not be serious- Chas having assured me Midnite operated by an Oath of Neutrality- but it made all the hair on my body stand up. In a funny moment of lucidity, I heard the song being played in the back of the club was a remix of "Don't Fear the Reaper." How appropriate. _Come on baby...don't fear the reaper, baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper... _

I hated this damn song.

I stood up from my chair so quickly I ended up knocking it over. Scrambling to get my purse off the ground, I said, "Well this has been fun. Very... informative. Thanks for inviting me here; I'm sure I'll see you again." I was gabbling.

"Count on it," said Balthazar, looking up at me with a mixed measure of unslaked lust and pleasure. I brushed past John and Ellie without looking at them.

When I got close enough to John to tiptoe up and whisper into his ear, I muttered, "Not worth it." He didn't react, but the charge in the air dropped significantly. It wasn't until I stepped outside the foyer that I remembered I didn't have a way of getting home.

* * *

As I was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, debating between calling Chas for a ride- then I'd have to explain what I'd been doing- or trying to take a bus at this hour, John had slipped out from Ellie's clutches. I felt a cloud of misdirected anger before I turned to see him coming towards me. Great. "You're annoyed at me why, exactly?" I asked evenly.

Evidently I should have known why already. Okay, so I did feel a little surprised at myself that I'd managed to get pretty hot with two guys in two days, but at least the second time I'd been fairly pragmatic about it. Balthazar scared me too much for me to truly want to have sex with him. I'd say so, too, if anyone asked me. What I didn't understand was, if we needed facts to protect ourselves and our world, why shouldn't we ask around instead of conducting everything secretly?

Even half-breeds lived on Earth. Logically, yes, it was probably stupid to try and hook up with the demon that all the other demons seemed to owe a kind of fealty to. I'll admit that. It was equally stupid to try that when I was reasonably certain he'd killed those two guys back at the dive bar.

"_What_ were you doing?" he asked, parrying my question with a question.

I shrugged one shoulder irritably. "I don't know. Hanging around him seems like it might yield some interesting bits of things we could, well, use to our advantage." Now that I'd said it out loud, it did sound like an immature plan. But I wouldn't own up to it.

"Hanging around him means that you eventually end up physically hurt. Or dead," said John flatly.

"That totally doesn't sound like anyone else I know," I exclaimed in tones of mock confusion.

If I'd pushed the envelope just shy of far last night, I was pushing it far too now. Power flared from him, and sent me staggering backward into the concrete wall, under the red-painted overhang that housed the stairs to Midnite's. I wondered if it was a conscious thing that he'd just done. It wasn't enough to really hurt, but it did knock most of the wind out of me. I leaned limply against the hard material, gasping for air. That bastard. He walked up to me, looking positively dangerous.

"Don't get involved with him," he said.

I didn't want to. But again: men. "I was trying to help," I croaked. "Funny, I don't get all possessive with-" I was silenced by another surge of raw power, this time a very intentional one that sent me slinking down the wall because it was half constricting my throat. "Oh my God, would you stop!" I exclaimed, amazed I could even force that out. "You're being an idiot."

"Block me," John said, quite unequivocally. This was not the time for lessons in defensive magic, I thought. And block him? Block him the fuck how? Apparently the Neutrality spells only worked inside the bar. Not outside. I took slight comfort in the fact that if John wanted to be hurting me, he'd just be hurting me. I'd imagine that by his standards this was quite kind. So I concentrated everything on stopping this bizarre pressure.

First, nothing happened. Then, it was like a dam had burst, starting with a trickle of a cold, clear lavender energy. I found if I focused I could direct it, making it stronger and more cohesive. It welled out of me. I knew I'd overdone it when John tripped backward and collided with the stair railings. That was good, otherwise he'd go tumbling down and probably break something. All I cared about was I could breathe and I wasn't pinned to a wall anymore.

When he got up he was laughing. "What," I asked, absolutely infuriated now that I had a steady supply of oxygen to feed my brain, "Is so funny?"

"That burned- and you have a pretty aura," he said.

"You couldn't see the color before?"

"Nope- you took on everyone else's color, and reflected it back to them," he said. "Now you have your own. That's good."

"I'm glad you think so," I said, massaging my throat. "Why the hands-on training? Please feel free never to do it again without warning me." Asshole.

"The first time, I hadn't meant to throw you," he admitted. "You pissed me off, so I reacted in kind. After that, well- you have to learn sometime. Better from me than someone who really wants to kill you."

Mulling that over, I came to the conclusion that it was better. "Next time, though," I said, shooting him a dark look, "If you're really that pissed, I'm sure we can find a _nicer_ way of expressing it." Strangely, all the metaphysical volatility was making me think of the more physical kind. Just call me twisted. But I meant what I said.

It took a moment for my meaning to sink in. Once it did, I saw a ghost of the wolfish grin John had given me when we'd first met return to his face. "Okay." I shook my head, hiding a smile behind my hand. He was easy to appease if I defaulted to that. I knew our minds were drifting, no, being jerked, back to last night. We appraised each other, and I felt my muscles relax. He seemed to regret throwing me at a wall: he took a tentative step forward, as though I might be throwing him this time. The thought had crossed my mind, but lucky for him I wanted to be brutal in other ways.

"Do try not to kill the girl, John," a low, melodious voice said. "With your record, it wouldn't help your cause at all."

I turned to view the newcomer, a tall, very thin, very androgynous being with curling red-gold hair that was cut into a severe bob. He, she, it? Probably she- put me on my guard without much reason; I didn't think I'd be attacked, but I felt like I was near a live grenade that hadn't gone off yet. This told me the person was a half-breed, as I only felt that way around them. I wished I could see their natures better without needing to concentrate on it: I was tapped out for the night.

I'd just take cues off of John about how to act. That was arguably foolhardy, but trustworthy.

John's mouth twitched. "Nothing is helping, Gabriel."

Gabriel. Oh. I had seen a lot lately that had conditioned my reception of the "impossible." Therefore I thought of the impossible. Then she was a he, or more accurately, he- it- was sexless in a technical sense. Now I had questions that were just not appropriate: could angels choose what sex they were if they took human lovers? Did they default to what this one did- a melange of male and female, leaning heavier to the female end? If so, what was the point of that?

You know, I'd just call Gabriel a he, because traditionally, that's what I'd always heard him characterized as. Problem solved.

Serenely, Gabriel said, "I know."

Without looking away from the angel, John introduced me. "Eva, this is Gabriel. The Archangel." Yeah, there was a routine introduction you made everyday.


	6. Cease and Resist

The Archangel looked at me unequivocally, the way I might expect an angel to look at a human girl who was probably about as consequential as a flea to a cat. "Hi," I said. "Should I be bowing, or shielding my eyes or something?" I thought of _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_. I didn't feel inspired to bow- Gabriel looked more like a weird alternative model than anything that would smite me- but if that's what was expected of me, then I could do that.

"Don't," John said, casting Gabriel a scathing look. "You don't have to be doing anything. What do you want?"

Gabriel's protuberant blue eyes rested on me and I fidgeted where I stood, about half a foot away from John. "I need to talk about her, actually." He gestured eloquently at me.

About me? Not to me. _About_ me. John laughed hoarsely. "Yeah?" Characteristically, he fished a cigarette from out of his pocket and lit it with a lighter he produced from some other dimension.

True mark of an addict: you never see them grabbing their paraphernalia until it's too late. From the way Gabriel looked upon this with a benign but tired smirk, I gathered that they'd fought the "you should stop smoking" battle many times. I felt the need to smoke too, if only because I wanted something to do while I was being discussed. I'd done hookah before, but had yet to finish a whole cigarette for once in my life. But smoking was something you could use to occupy yourself. And I had to admit, it looked cool even if it was stupid, and killer.

After John had barely touched the thing to his lips, I plucked it from his fingers and took a drag. Whatever these were, they weren't that bad. He looked at me sidelong but didn't say anything. "Yes," Gabriel said with a smile.

John voiced my indignation in a slightly backwards fashion. "You don't want to even wait for her to be... not here?"

"Oh no," he said smoothly. "Evangeline should hear it too." I raised an eyebrow. How considerate that something about me, concerned me. I wasn't freaked out that he knew my name, which just seemed beside the point if you were an angel. You'd know everyone's name. I flicked ash onto the pavement, waiting.

"How nice of you to say so," John said coldly.

"Stop all of it," Gabriel said to me.

"Stop what?" I asked blankly. But I had an idea of what I was supposed to be stopping. At this point in time it would be like trying to stop my breathing if God wanted me to stop slipping into people's dreams, and having a weird aura. Oh, wait. He was God, and I was supposed to do backflips for Him even if I'd had all my limbs amputated.

"Let's not play coy," said the angel, though there was an edge to his mellow voice. "What you do, what you are- it's simply an abomination. The result of genetic flukes and selectively breeding them."

News to me, that was. I was tempted, incredibly tempted, to blow smoke into Gabriel's face. Except for the fact that he towered over me, and was Divine, the action would be quite satisfying. "Hey, if God's so in charge, why'd He let the 'genetic flukes' happen in the first place?" I exhaled so that the breeze carried the smoke away, then passed the cigarette back to John. "Seems to me that's not my fault."

I met Gabriel's stern look head-on. I'd been going through a lot in the past few years, and I had the _deeply_ buried temper to prove it. I'm a tightly wound person because I internalize most of my emotions. This is badly combined with the way I tend to react on instinct. I'd only just come to freak out because I was the sole provider and protector of River, for example, which I'm sure more people would do immediately after their only living parent had died. My processing time for certain events is long, which makes them build up.

I'd be on a roll if I started asking Gabriel all sorts of questions about God being in charge of my life. Which the angel seemed to realize were brewing behind my pretty, wide hazel eyes.

Slightly exasperated, he turned to John and demanded, "How long, exactly, have you two known each other?"

John tallied up the days in his head. "About three weeks now? If that?"

"You always were pervasive," Gabriel sighed. He held his hands out to me in a pleading gesture. "There's a balance, my child. You'd be tipping it too much if you continued down this path."

Predictably, John snorted. Here I was, thinking I had no idea what path I was even following. I thought of Rosalie's insistence that I should continue doing my magic. A trip to New Orleans for a brief family reunion might just be in order. And I wondered- which way would I be causing the balance to slide? I mean, really? We were the good guys here. Unless I wasn't a good guy and just hadn't figured that out yet. I shuddered. "What happens if I keep... progressing? I have no intention of stopping." I had so stepped up in the realm of self-actualization- I was defying an angel.

He gave a sad smile. "I'm not able to say."

My mouth fell open, a little. I was being told to stop, basically, being who I was, without being given the benefit of knowing why I was supposed to? That was rich. God was all of a sudden trying to interfere in my life, when for the majority of my twenty-four years He'd seen fit to ignore dire money troubles, my father's health issues, River's depression... my mother's shame at having borne two psychic children. She didn't like us being what we were because we scared her. The magic came from my father's side: she hadn't grown up hearing the stories like he had. I also liked to think it was in his blood. While he wasn't best pleased with us, he was at least open.

God hadn't even stopped my nightmares. That should have been the easiest for an omnipotent being.

"No," I said staunchly. Damn, I told an angel no. But I meant it, even if I was shaking.

"Where would humans be if the Virgin Mary had said-"

"Save the sermon," I said, quite calmly, since I'd realized I probably had just signed my own ticket to Hell.

I don't know why I was saying no, except for every part of me was saying that giving up my abilities would be wrong. I don't know where I'd gone from being frightened of them to wanting to use them. No, I kind of did. I'd asked for help finding information, and I'd gotten some I really found troubling. So much so that I hadn't shared yet.

Beeman had unearthed some old manuscripts concerning shadow walkers from the medieval period- through the heavily veiled language (which we'd laboriously translated into modern English), we were forced to conclude that they often went insane. I'm not saying that it was inevitable but the mere idea that it could happen stressed me out. Understandably, I hoped.

Back then, shadow walkers were sometimes locked into monasteries for observation (when they were caught, that is), and made not to do their magic, or any magic. And whether it was the solitary confinement or being cut off from the magic... they often lost it. Slaughters. Murders. Suicides. Many of them were burned as witches once the Inquisition came onto the scene, and we all know how much the Inquisition influenced the rest of Europe. What started in Spain spread to the rest of the European countries. Then to America.

I was in no danger of being locked into solitary confinement, or burned, but I didn't want to take chances with any of the rest of it.

John had the good sense, for once, to keep quiet during this whole exchange. If he said anything, even to back me up, I'd probably punch him. I wasn't saying no to an angel for his benefit, whether or not he thought so. I twitched as Gabriel's eyes flashed reddish-green, the way people's do when they take a picture with the flash turned up. I think he was angry, but the only expression on his face was one of pity. By his line of logic, it would be better to be insane and in Heaven than sane and in Hell. He looked down at me with a sad smile.

* * *

"What happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

We were walking down to a busier corner, one with a parking structure, where Chas could swing by and pick us up. "I mean, do I get hunted down, or blacklisted, or... stuck with a tracking number?" I'd shed my heeled sandals and was carrying them in one hand, now trying to avoid the gum, spit and trash on the Los Angeles sidewalks. Maybe staying in shoes, however uncomfortable, would have been a better idea. "Wait, I guess to them I already have one. But the other two?" I glanced up at John, the full weight of what I'd just done sinking in.

"Half-breeds are interested in influence, not forcing people. It's hypocritical to believe in free choice when they invest so much in the balance, but there you go." His voice was detached. I think he understood that if he gloated too much over my actions, I would get annoyed, and if he criticized me, I would also be annoyed.

"What do you think I should have done?" I asked cautiously.

He shrugged one shoulder. I'd gotten used to that habit of his. "If doing your magic is important to you, what you did do."

Right, I hadn't told him about my extracurricular research. "Well, it is. More now than it was before. Before, I was pretty content to just ignore it, and it mostly ignored me. Not anymore." I had not decided whose fault that was, or if it was just going to happen to me eventually regardless. We passed by an extremely drunk homeless man who was heckling a group of half-dressed coeds, and started up the stairs into the calmer parking structure. I added, reluctantly, "And there's some stuff that Bee and Hennessy have found out for me."

Leaning against the wall, he stared at me. He hadn't even introduced Hennessy to me. Bee had. "What stuff?"

I put my sandals back on, scrunching up my nose because my feet were so dirty. "We got hold of several manuscripts from the middle ages. About shadow walkers. I mean, they use different terms and weird metaphors... but they're definitely talking about us. They all say basically the same thing, but one from the Fontevraud Abbey near Anjou was quite, uh, explicit."

"About?"

I didn't want to mention it. I shuffled my feet and suddenly found my crimson painted toes fascinating. We have a tendency to go insane, apparently." I felt a warm hand under my chin and found myself looking into John's dark, opaque brown eyes. I blinked. "Like not randomly. Eventually, if we _don't_ do magic the way we're meant to, we snap. I don't know yet if that's related to something outside of our control- like someone causing a barrier between you and your magic to happen- or if it's internal." I stopped, thought a little. "River's a bit mentally unstable. He always has been depressed and stuff, but not me. Of course he's also smarter than me and more logical than me, so maybe they go together. It could be misinterpretation. I haven't a clue."

There was a smell of gasoline in the air that came up from the street. A screech of brakes and Chas, in his taxi, appeared, swerving in front of us. I wiggled myself out of John's grip and threw myself in the driver's side back seat, shoving several books out of the way as I did so. "You know, you could have said it was you two who were on a date," Chas said darkly, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.

"It's so not like that," I protested.

"You just ended up together at the end of the night," he said flatly.

"Actually, yes," I said, growing irked. "Seriously, if you guys have issues to talk out, it's not my problem, Chas. When I called to tell you what I was doing, I was with someone else."

What was this, high school?

John, buckling up in the front seat, looked confused. "Something happen that I should know about, kid?"

The pet name was not winning any points with Chas. He looked strangely, extremely antagonistic. "Oh yeah, no big deal or anything. Angela called us to look at some dead bodies, then Eva disappears from the crime scene immediately after calling me to say she has a date."

"Dead bodies?"

"Yes," Chas said, dripping cold sarcasm all over the place. "Dead bodies. With occult tattoos."

"She didn't want to call you because her watch commander was there and she implied you have a record a mile and a half long with the police," I explained to John, feeling slightly alarmed that we were driving this fast through downtown traffic. I get that seeing mutilated bodies isn't the best way to spend your evenings, but Chas was taking it very badly.

I knew he didn't have feelings for me, for one thing. I was guessing the pressure of having to stay cool after seeing what he just had was getting the better of him. He was so young, after all. I think he'd said 19? I'd overestimated his age when we'd first met then. He was only a few months older than my brother. That, and he clearly felt like John was his territory in several senses. I don't know if he viewed me as a romantic threat or if he was just concerned for my safety too.

One of his best qualities was that he was fiercely protective of his friends. For whatever reason, he'd taken to me quickly. That surprised me, since people don't usually tend to do that. I'm not the world's most socially aware person and I don't have many friends outside of the ones I work with. Which, really, is how I like it. I'm not agoraphobic but I am a homebody at heart. I'm not upset that I'm no social butterfly.

"Anything out of the ordinary?" John wanted to know.

"Aside from the way they were killed?" said Chas.

"The tattoos," I said. "I can draw out what I remember. If you want."

Before John could respond, his apprentice asked, "So I'll be taking you both to his place then?"

"Look, you've had a bad night, and I'm sure you were worried," I snapped. I wanted to smack the back of his head, but I contented myself with glaring at it instead. "I was out with _Balthazar, _not John_- _and if you have anything to say about it, I will give you nightmares for the next month. You know I can. If you want the truth, he wasn't my first choice, but he's persuasive." There was little assurance that I was safe being with Balthazar but that wasn't the point.

"Balthazar-"

"Shut up! Getting Angela in front of him would have been a very bad idea. That's why I left." I leaned against the back seat and crossed my arms. So there.

Chas chewed at his lip. "I guess it would have been, yes."

"Thank you. I didn't have the best night either. Stop biting my head off." I'd seen two dead bodies, gotten coerced into going out with a killer demon, psychically thrown against the wall by the man I wanted to make time with and chided by an angel. That last part still had me reeling. How was I so important that Gabriel would tell me to cease and desist? I suspected it had more to do with John than me. "I think I need to go to New Orleans," I announced.

Pretty much in stereo, both men asked, "Why?"

"Because that's where Rosalie was in my dream, and my father's family is from there. And Gabriel said that my _abominable_ talents have to do with my family. I get them from my dad's side, not my mother's. I just... feel like I need to go, okay? I think it will help me. You can't tell me you _need_ me here. Yet." The land of voodoo and southern folklore would, I felt, lead me in a better direction than this one out here, which certainly had its strengths but wasn't clicking with what I needed.

I'd forgotten that neither of them really bought that my dream actually was from a relative and not a misleading demon. I can't describe any better how I knew it wasn't, just that I knew. I thought of taking River along too, but he couldn't go- he had summer classes this term. He'd only been to New Orleans three times- he'd been born here. Well, Pasadena technically, but he was a California native.

Taking a left hand turn too sharply for my taste, Chas said, "David _is_ back tomorrow."

"Exactly," I crowed. "That means I can take some time off. After all the covering I did for him and Landon, they owe me. In fact, Chas- can you tell them I'm not coming in for a few days? I don't imagine I'll be gone any more than three." The jet lag was not at all bad going here to there, and the flight wasn't very long. If I could survive it as a six-year-old or a teenager, I could survive it now. David wouldn't care where I went, so long as I brought him back some weird books, especially now that he had Chas and Landon both. The taxi came to a literally screeching halt outside the bowling alley. Chas needed his breaks checked.

"Sure," he agreed, in a respectably level voice. If he thought my travel plans were ill-timed, he kept it to himself. He threw the parking break on and John and I got out of the car. Hm- I guess I was here tonight after all. It was probably at least two in the morning, and I had neither the patience nor inclination to take a bus back home. River was gone anyway: he was staying with a friend who lived in Eagle Rock. They were definitely still up playing video games, which meant he would curse me (hopefully figuratively) if I called him to come and get me.

I really needed a car, if only to avoid sexually awkward situations.

* * *

The bowling alley was dark and silent as we found our way to the elevator in the very low lighting. We rode up in silence, which wasn't strictly uncomfortable, but terse. I could tell John wanted to ask me what was so important about going to New Orleans, although I think part of him understood. Well, that was what I hoped, anyway. His hallway was harder to see through than the downstairs, and when the elevator stopped to let us out, I peered into the darkness.

Every hair on the back of my neck stood on edge, though I couldn't say why. Then a silhouette formed from the shadows and I blanched. "I should have stayed in bed today."

The nothing man stood between us, and John's door. I didn't need to see him clearly to recognize it was him- the way he'd coalesced from the shadows was enough for me- and I remembered his strange, thin form. I froze, thinking, What do I do? What can I do?

John, being nothing if not astute in these scenarios, said, "What the Hell is that?" It was soft enough so that only I could hear, and the figure didn't react, just stayed where it was, hovering. Waiting. I took a step forward, and it laughed, a sound very similar to autumn wind rustling dead leaves.

I was genuinely unable to answer. I kept walking, as though in a thrall. Maybe I was. One foot fell in front of the other with its own volition.

"We still have the book, little one," said the nothing man.

Still, I walked forward.

"Too bad for you, we also need... further resources. Resources that resonate with the book we relieved from you. It was not a mistake that the book found you." Let me guess, those resources were probably me. My flesh and blood and what it could do. I was dimly aware of John walking behind me, his footsteps sounding much heavier and resolute. I could have been floating for all the sound I made.

"No," I said.

"It's not a choice," the voice hissed, sounding much closer to the way I remembered it. The same sensations started coming into play- I felt like everything was rushing from me, the way you do when you've had too much blood taken at, say, the doctor's, and you're about to pass out. The darkness intensified around him and I felt deliciously faint. Only, two things happened that were different this time around.

I felt stronger, the same way I felt when Balthazar was trying to influence me. John had also grabbed the crook of my arm, which maybe had something to do with that, but I doubted it: this felt like all me. "No," I repeated, much more loudly, now dragging myself and John towards him. He was still wearing all grey, still had those translucent silver eyes. Like he had before, he hissed at me, revealing sharp, pointed teeth that I hadn't noticed. He lunged and I struck towards him, lashing out with my free arm. I managed to grab hold of the front of his shirt, which he did not approve of. I felt pure power leech into my hand, and it was cold.

Sharply cold, like ice. John cried out but did not let go of me.

"Your defiance won't serve you well," the nothing man promised me.

I concentrated so hard the top of my head hurt, willing everything I had to hurt this thing. If he could have an effect on me, there was no reason to expect I couldn't affect him. That was how magic seemed to work. And, well, if I couldn't, John Constantine had my back. That had to count for something. If he had seen a thing like this before, which he hadn't, I'm sure it would have been decimated in two seconds. It would just take him a little longer since he didn't know what we were confronting.

The lavender, light violet power I'd come to associate with myself drifted from me, lighting up the entire hall like a blast had gone off. This time what I saw was physical, not something in my mind's eye. I squinted at the sudden illumination, which was intense, but more like a strong black light than the sun. The nothing man looked astonished. Then he howled. A minute later, probably less, he was gone. He'd disintegrated in a mixture of purple and onyx sparks that looked like fireflies and went out just as fast. I stared, open mouthed, at the spot where he'd been. John's fingers were still on my arm.

"What the fuck did I just do?" It was so cold in here now, I saw my breath steaming in front of me.

"Used his own firepower against him, I'd say. I don't think he's gone forever though- just gone," John said, and I was relieved to hear his voice was completely normal. We were in the dark again, and he stepped in front of me, moving me gently over, to unlock the door. But he didn't need to; it fell meekly open as soon as he turned the knob. "You blew the wards. Again."

"None of that was from you?" I asked, hoping that part of it was. Apologies seemed to be water under the bridge. "I don't _do_ things like that. You do."

He flicked on the lights in his apartment. "No. It wasn't me." The temperature was much, much warmer.

"I got so... mad. And scared. That was the nothing man," I said unnecessarily. "I wish I knew his real name, damn it."

"I gathered," said John wryly.

"And he fell apart into sparkly pieces. But he's probably going to come back."

"Yes."

"I don't do stuff like this. I can't." I felt more like I was dreaming than anything.

John laughed. "Now you know why the occult community is afraid of you. There are stories, people talk." He went out of my field of vision for a moment and I had to sit on the couch that I'd become so fond of. Otherwise I might collapse.

Returning with a glass of liquor, he offered it to me and added, "He's not a half-breed. He's full, whatever kind of demon he is. He's not from this plane. I don't think that what just happened would have happened if he was corporeal. True flesh." That fed his evidence then- backed up his so-called wild stories about demons, real ones, being here in our world. I knocked the booze back with barely a thought. Bourbon this time. How fitting. He sounded satisfied.

"You're taking this very calmly," I observed, feeling warmth flush through me. Thank you, alcohol. With a knowing smile, he sat down beside me. The couch inclined with his weight, and I slipped closer to him without meaning to. I didn't move back to where I'd been, though, either.

"And I'd be freaking out, why?"

"Good point."

We both reacted a little comically to the sound of fast footsteps on the linoleum outside. I turned to look at the door so quickly I cricked my neck, wincing. John stood up so fast he nearly knocked the glass of bourbon from my outstretched hand. He pulled the door open, looking fierce as blazes until he saw a very disgruntled Beeman standing on his threshold.

"What the Hell, John?" he spluttered, British accent in full force. "Everything is short-circuited. Things I have been working on for quite a long time, mind you. It will take me days to set all of it right." Bee was in blue and white striped, stained pajamas and his glasses were sitting askew on his beaky nose. His feet were bare.

"Come in, Bee," said John, sounding like he wanted to laugh. "I had a, uh, visitor."

Bee hadn't noticed me yet. He was still trying to impress upon John how disruptive he'd just been. "I had sensitive instruments set exactly just-so, some cards spread..." he threw his hands up. "But never mind. Whatever the hero has to defend himself from, that's more important." Mousy Bee could be sarcastic, who knew?

John really fought down a snicker now. "Jesus- just have Chas help you. He's good with those kinds of things."

"Not the point, John-"

I made a little noise in the back of my throat. There should have been squirming, live things in my stomach for how unsettled I felt. "It was me," I said, looking at Bee from over the top of the couch. "I'm sorry." He seemed much more reluctant to chew me out, or he was working out what I meant and that slowed his annoyance.

"You? That was like an electrical surge," he said disbelievingly.

"Her," John said firmly.

Beeman gaped at me. I was getting very sick of being stared at tonight. "Are you sure you don't do voodoo? Any kind? That's- that's what it felt most similar to."

How one got to be so good at discerning between various types of magic, I couldn't begin to imagine. Using any of it felt like sticking my finger in a live socket, and then afterward I felt ill. Didn't make a difference what I was doing- witchcraft, voodoo, Santeria. I looked at him helplessly. Wards were as high tech as I got with the black arts until, well, tonight.

"You know I don't. Very distant relatives, yes. Me, no."

I was starting to feel like learning some might not be too crazy of a next step, if it kept coming up and that's what my "flavor" of magic seemed like. That's how it goes sometimes- the magic chooses you. You don't choose it. Similar to how patron spirits choose you. Even patron gods. John had admitted to me that it wasn't like one God existed. The God with the big G was the one who'd won the stronghold of the human world, so we had to play by His rules. Anyone else was just... there.

I knew.

"Hm," said Beeman, his eyes bulging more than usual. He was thinking. I tucked my bangs behind my ear, fidgeting. While he was thinking, I was wrestling with myself.

I _had_ a patron... she was why I tasted like voodoo. It's fairly rare to have a Loa pick you when you're not initiated into a voodoo practice, but it happens, and that's a good indication you should pick it. However, I obviously didn't, and remained pigheadedly unattached to any religious scheme. She'd revealed herself to me when I was a teenager, and that was about the time when I stopped experimenting with my magic, too. About when my mother had gotten scared of my weird-ass dreams and started telling me I was bound for Hell if I still let them happen.

Like Hell I "let" them. It wasn't that she was angry about it on a personal level, just sad and concerned and a good Catholic parent. Myself, I think it's close to child abuse to scare your kids into submission with religion... but she meant well. All right- so clearly this Loa thing was something these two should know about me. I'd never told anyone what I was about to divulge, which sounds so much more dramatic than it actually is. But when you're scared, no amount of logic in the world will make you talk about certain things.

As is common, the Loa had chosen me because of something that happened to me. If that makes sense. I mean, if they don't choose you first, you have to supplant yourself to them and prove you're what they want. It's like applying for a job or a college program. If you get _picked_ and don't have to go through that courting process, usually something significant occurs- bad or good, in my case bad, but not absolutely horrible- and then your patron makes itself known. Not everyone has one. Some people who do may not notice.

Loa, though, are aggressive because they expect to be served if they give you their protection or attributes. They're not just your guardian. You don't get a choice in that, even if you want them revoked. This is part of what I'd been afraid of, if I started doing more and more magic. Not only would I be attracting the attention of things like Balthazar, I'd also be ruffling my Loa's feathers. It seemed like, if I didn't do magic, she tolerated it. If I did it, she wanted in. That's how it had felt for the past ten years.

"Shit," I said out loud, covering my eyes with my free hand. The one holding the bourbon shook.

Then there came that whole crux of my mind possibly deteriorating if I _didn't _do magic. Damned if I was, damned if I wasn't. Shamans believe in a totem animal, as do Native Americans. Protestants talk about guardian angels. Catholics have patron saints and guardian angels. People in Wicca call them a spirit guide. Many belief systems make an allowance for this kind of personalized divinity. It wasn't the concept that daunted me. What it came down to was, I didn't want to have the responsibility of being attached to my particular Loa. That's what it was- a responsibility. Some might want it for its benefits. I thought it all was too scary, even if that made me a baby. Everything else I dealt with was already scary and I did my best to keep them under wraps.

"What?" Beeman asked. "What is it?"

I did not need a fucking demigoddess meddling in my life, even if she technically answered to God, who, by the way, is called Bon Dieu in some voodoo circles. Ironic, right? And I didn't want to talk about this. I wanted to barf.

John's voice snapped me back to the now. "Hey."

His face came into focus, and it was concerned. He was kneeling on the rug so that we were directly at eye-level. Did I look that catatonic? I made myself smile. "I should probably tell you something before I take my trip. I don't know if it matters."

"Okay," he said, looking like he didn't care one way or the other if I told him anything, which I knew wasn't exactly true.

"I have a Loa. She chose me. And you know what happens when you ignore a Loa, especially if they decide they want you first."


	7. Drained

**A/N: **Think of this as the celebratory "I've finished my senior thesis and all my classes" chapter. I've been working on it for a few weeks, but really only got the time to finish it yesterday. I hope you like it... it may seem a little far-fetched, but I personally don't think so.

* * *

Getting out of the taxi, I was immediately engulfed in a steamy, soupy mass of air. Yep, I was in New Orleans. It was 11:00 PM and it still felt absolutely sweltering. I paid the driver, a tanned, pockmarked man, and tipped him. Uttering a polite thank you, I stepped out onto Dauphine Street and navigated my way to the Dauphine Orleans hotel, where I'd been staying since I'd flown in. I'd gotten the recommendation from David, who seemed suspiciously happy to let me take off for half a week. I wasn't complaining. Of course, I could have stayed with my aunt and uncle, but I was too fond of my privacy. I'd rather fork over the extra money to stay somewhere else and be able to come and go at all hours of the night.

The street was quiet and empty enough, but I could hear the sounds of the busier parts of the French Quarter drifting though the night. It being a Friday, there was plenty of business afoot. I hefted my purse further up my shoulder, wincing at the weight. I was a light packer, but I'd packed a few extras I hadn't needed at home. The usual: Holy Water, blessed crucifixes...

There were footsteps behind me. They were very soft and almost inaudible, but every time I stopped, they stopped. When I paused, they paused. When I started up again, they started too. I came to an exasperated halt. "I can hear you," I said pointedly.

"Well, obviously," replied an amused male voice. I looked behind me and a tall, auburn haired man stood some feet away. He smiled at me, and I scowled back.

"As opposed to?" I wanted to know.

"Your kind doesn't hear ours very easily," he explained, his voice low and easy. "We have to try to make noise, anyway."

Most of my quota of surprise for the next decade of my life had been used up in the past month. "And you're like, what, a vampire?" He didn't have that sort of odd luminescence that half-breeds did, so he wasn't an angel, or a demon. I'd guess they had a pretty quiet walk when they wanted to. I was being dead sarcastic, but we were in New Orleans, after all. Anne Rice had seen to it that vampirism had a good foothold here.

He fell silent, and his smile wavered. I saw he had a weird way of arranging his lips so that they partially hid his teeth... maybe that was just his way of smiling. He couldn't actually be a vampire. I'd been raised on tales of them, but I had yet to actually see one. I remembered the bite marks we'd seen on Landon's neck that night so long ago, and shuddered. "Good guess," he said at last, eyeing me through vividly blue-green eyes. They looked like sea glass. I raised my eyebrows.

"You're joking," I said flatly, sounding like Angela when she spoke to me.

And he smirked, showing two pointed, very sharp looking canines. I sighed loudly. How lucky could I get? I still hadn't found any good, compelling reason why I should even be here, despite my earlier conviction. Nothing was slapping me in the face as drastically important, but then, maybe I wasn't looking in the right place. This was my birth city, but I didn't know it as well as Los Angeles. Especially not in an occult sense.

"I'm really not," he said. Figuring if he'd wanted to drink me he would have done it already, I thought, Well- I may as well not run. I simply watched him. Of course I'd run into a vampire here. This was the biggest cliché of the century.

"Oh."

"I'm Finn," the vampire said, with a nod.

"Why are you, er, following me?" I had been about to say stalking me.

"I like manipulators," Finn confessed.

"You like them why, exactly?" I asked cautiously, neither confirming nor denying my identity. I wrangled my cell phone out of the very, very bottom of my purse while also reassuring myself that there was, in fact, lots of Holy Water in there. I waited for his answer.

Finn took a step closer to me- or that's what I thought he did- because one second he was further away and the next, he was pretty much in my face. I jumped. "Taste. It's a little like a vintage Beaujolais. Why are you here, little one?" There was a faint British accent to his speech. At the moment, he looked more curious than hungry, but at least he was being honest. I had to count my blessings. "You're not from around here, are you?"

I took a very deep breath, trying to steady myself. He'd really startled me. "I was born here."

"Ah. What made you come back?"

"One of my relatives came to me in a dream and said the world was going to become a living Hell if my friends and I didn't stop it from happening," I said blithely, "and I thought it would be important for me to come here. Long story." I was going to be very honest too. I fingered the buttons on my phone nervously, looking up into his face as I did so. It was very handsome, in a haughty way. The aristocratic effect was nicely enhanced by the way his hair was artfully messy. He probably spent a long time on that hair trying to get it perfectly mussed.

Finn blinked. "Did she really?"

"Yes," I replied. "She really did."

"That's bad," he said shortly.

I had the ill grace to look confused. He laughed a little. "What?" I said defensively. "You're technically a demon, right? Why should it matter to you if the world ends?"

"If the world ends, lovely _petit four_," he said jovially, "there are no more humans to eat. Or seduce." He said that last bit with a languid, sibilant emphasis. "As to what we are, well, I neither know nor care. Technically we may be demons. I have no idea. There are legends to explain that."

"Are you calling me a_ petit four_?" I asked blankly. He laughed again.

"You're a virgin."

Indignantly, my voice went up a few notches in shrillness. "Excuse me?"

Finn grinned. "You've never been bitten by a vampire. You're a _petit four_. You know, those pretty little cakes at parties that get eaten in two bites."

"That is the weirdest-" Just then, my phone had the bad timing to ring. I flipped it open. "Yes?" I asked quickly.

"They found that Bible that was stolen from Pulp," Chas announced. I bit my lip.

"Oh, that's great," I said, hardly caring right now whether or not it actually was found. "Chas, are you by any chance around John?"

"Yeah, hang on." I could hear him moving around. Keeping an eye on the vampire out of the corner of my gaze, I waited for Chas to pass the phone over.

"What's up?" John asked, sounding pretty much as mildly interested as he always did.

Pitching my voice so that Finn could catch every word- okay, he probably could if I even whispered, but I wanted him to know I was updating someone I knew on the fact that I was standing right next to a vampire- I said, "Well, I've just made friends with a vampire who is calling me a virgin." John could read between the lines. I needed advice but it's not like I wanted to piss off a vampire with my confusion or bluntness.

There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line. "Right. Why have you made friends with a vampire?"

"There's a lot I could say to you about that," I said. "But I won't. He was following me."

"What does it want?"

"Blood, obviously," I said. "Apparently I taste like vintage Beaujolais."

Finn perked up like a puppy that had scented food left on the floor. "Is that John Constantine? I had some good times with him in L.A. _years_ back." Great. This cliché was turning into even more of a cliché. Well- I had indeed had the strong urge to come here. Things sometimes happened for a reason, after all...

"Oh, perfect," I muttered into the receiver, "he knows you. Friend or foe, John? If I'm about to get tanked by a vampire, I will personally haunt you until the end of days. It may not be for very long, but-"

John hissed through his teeth, or that's what it sounded like. "He's not going to tank you that quickly. Vamps don't. That's the problem. Name?"

"Finn, or so I'm told."

A long hesitation came before his next answer. "Friend."

"That didn't sound too confident."

"With vampires, the line can be really thin," he said musingly. "Contact one of us if something goes wrong." I could hear the smile in his voice. "I've never been in a manipulated dream before." And he hung up on me. The dick hung up on me.

"Yes," I told Finn. "That _was_ Constantine. He says you're a friend."

* * *

After a little deliberation, I ended up telling Finn everything about what I knew. We lingered in the Dauphine Orleans lounge, which was vacant. Otherwise I wouldn't have had him inside. Only a sleepy bellboy manned the ornate counter. I was ready to play house with a vampire, but I wasn't super excited about inviting one to my room. Finn seemed like a patient vampire, or at least he was curious about me and what I had to say. Especially since we both had an acquaintance in common. I was a demon magnet, that's all there was to it. If, in fact, vampires were a kind of demon.

He, of course, didn't say too much about his and John's relationship. I wasn't happy to take the knowledge blindly, but this was the first interesting thing to happen to me in days. He looked comfortable under the dim, period appropriate lighting. The Dauphine didn't have candles, but it did have those nice, low wattage bulbs in its antique fixtures. Once I had finished my end of the story, everything from meeting John to seeing Rosalie, to divulging the fact I had a Loa looking out for me... he looked off into space for quite a long time, laying back in his chair. I fidgeted.

Strangely, he commented on me before anything else. "It's not voodoo you need. Sure, acknowledge your Loa and all that, but you don't need to study much else. They want purpose, not scholarship."

"What makes you say that?" I wondered. "That's really counter-intuitive."

He fixed me with his rich, sea colored eyes. "Eva- think of it as diversifying."

I studied the wallpaper behind his head. It was a light salmon color, embossed with gold. "You mean- she isn't choosing me because she wants another initiate."

"Exactly," he nodded. "You're a hot commodity. And yours, well, I've heard she 's fierce."

I murmured, "People don't mess with Erzulie Dantor."

I flashed back to telling Beeman and John about her last week- Beeman's jaw had nearly hit the floor. John had pretty much been John about it, meaning he'd treated me with a newfound respect but still baited me continually. Erzulie Dantor was a Petro aspect of a female energy, one that took many forms. Fortunately for me she was the toughest, often depicted as the Black Madonna or, sometimes in Haiti, St. Jeanne d'Arc. She was a patron of wronged women, among other things, and was especially fond of lesbians and gay men. However, I'd heard that if you channeled her, you wouldn't do much speaking: Erzulie Dantor was traditionally mute in the human world. You'd communicate in other ways.

It's another long story, but she'd started coming to me when I was a young teenager, appearing in dreams as a curvacious female with dark skin and blazing eyes or a hooded, maternal figure with the same ebony skin and deep scars along her cheecks. Once this started happening, a school friend's mother, who practiced voodoo, told me many times I had "marks" of being chosen by Erzulie Dantor. I hadn't breathed a word to her about any of it.

"Did you choose her?" Finn asked directly.

"No," I said pointedly.

"What happened to you, then?" he pressed. "She's a heavy hitter. She doesn't just attach herself to anyone. Were you beaten, or raped, or something? That combined with your abilities would be very intriguing to her."

I wasn't even going to humor him. I'd been raped in my dreams at the age of fourteen, which didn't count. I'd convinced myself of that, and I hadn't told either John or Bee. I hadn't seen the demon's face, but even if I had I wouldn't want to remember it. "Not in a physical sense. It could have been worse. It could have been real," I said, tight-lipped. You may be wondering if this still bothered me. Yes, and no. I still didn't sleep very much, but on the other hand I wanted to prevent it from happening to anyone else. Cavorting with Balthazar, for example, was a necessary evil. There was more than the obvious reason why he made my skin crawl, though. Finn had the delicacy not to further the topic.

"And how much do you know about shadow walking?" he asked, with a quirked smile. "It's very ironic I found you, our mutual friend notwithstanding."

"Not very much," I admitted.

The light glittered off the gold strands in his dark auburn hair as he shifted minutely. "There used to be a rite of passage, amongst your people. Well, back when there were more of them a few hundred years ago. They're like vampires in a way... they seemed to really enjoy New Orleans... but we enjoyed them-" I glared at him. Was he saying vampires were the reason we died out? I doubted that was possible, considering there weren't tons of vampires, but it was a touchy subject with me. "No, you misunderstand. Our relationship was far more symbiotic than you think. Vampires and manipulators."

It was my smile that twisted this time. "Oh, of course it was."

Finn's face was knowing, and calm. "We share a lot of the same traits, small traits, but some of the same. It was easier to band together than it was to hunt each other."

"I don't crave blood."

He waved a graceful hand. "No, nor should you. I'm talking about the dream walking, the literal manipulating. You're an insomniac, am I right? You feel more comfortable in the dark than you do in the day. You can worm your way into people's heads and get them to do what you want- if only a little bit. Vampires dream walk. We manipulate. We can persuade people to do what we want, to a much larger extent than you ever could. And naturally we can't go out in the daylight at all."

I was starting to feel a little bit dizzy upon considering this and realizing it made good sense. "How are vampires with half-breeds?"

Finn chuckled. "You're catching on. Demons, they resent us, mostly for our ability to pass as human with little effort. Angels, well, they think we're abominations, the hypocritical bastards." I thought- that's exactly what Gabriel called me.

"So you had a... what? A deal with the shadow walkers around here?"

"In a manner of speaking," Finn said. "Your kind would feed us, so that way we wouldn't have to go catch victims. We don't have to kill to feed, you know. Some of us relish the kill though."

"Do you?"

He studied his nails. "It depends."

"Okay," I said dimly. "What did you do for us that was so symbiotic?"

"That, my dear," he said, "was simple. We awakened you."

"I'm sorry?"

The clock struck half-past. "I don't know how we figured it out. By accident, probably. It was maybe one of you who figured it out- who knows- but if you're very, very close to death... and I mean, dead for a second, if that... everything you do becomes so much easier once you're back. Much more fluid. You're connected to the energies you draw off of on an infinite level. Apparently it's quite euphoric, and makes the shadow walker in question quite formidable." He watched me, watched my horrified reaction fall into shock, and then fall flat.

The vampires would drain the shadow walker until they were nearly dead. That was the deal. In a town like New Orleans, I could see where this would be a very, very attractive trade-off. If vampires were as prevalent as Finn said, it would be to any magician's advantage to have them on your side. Or neutral toward you. The shadow walkers provided food, the vampires provided a way of getting close to death that wasn't suicide. I found myself laughing. Even if you could injure yourself severely without dying from it, that still had to be some kind of mortal sin, and you might not be alive to reap the benefits anyway.

Was that why nothing made sense to me? I hadn't rubbed shoulders with death enough? Finn let me work these thoughts out. All he had done was scoot the chair closer to mine. He rested his chin on his hands. "You'd drain us," I said softly. "Just enough so that we'd fall out of it, but bounce back eventually."

"You got it," he said, just as softly.

"You seem like the type who'd enjoy it," I said.

"I was," he said simply. He seemed to be too genteel to own up to it in graphic detail.

Which would be why he'd followed me, probably.

My infamous impulsiveness kicked in two seconds later. "Does it hurt?"

Finn turned avid, very much reminding me that I was still prey here. "Not the way I do it." Two seconds later, he added, "Let me rephrase. If I didn't like you, I could make it hurt."

One of the stories about vampires I'd heard often was that they had the ability to sort of hypnotize you into enjoying the pain of being bitten. Also, I'd heard their fangs probably released some kind of endorphins into your system to make this happen, but since no one had actually caught a vampire and done scientific tests on it, this was hard to determine for sure. But apparently, they could also make it hurt. Rather, they could just let it hurt instead of trying to lull you into some kind of weird, orgasmic high.

I hugged myself. I didn't even know if doing this might be to my benefit. Finn knew John and John knew Finn, so hopefully Finn wouldn't just do it anyway, against my will. There were other ways, I could imagine, to "awaken" myself... but I didn't trust them. Not as though I trusted a vampire either, but if Finn was an old hand, then that could be better than downing half a bottle of sleeping pills to try and get the job done. I thought of contacting Bee to see if any of this could be verified, but then I thought it might not be the sort of thing which could be. We hadn't even found many ordinary resources on shadow walkers, much less ones having to do with vampires and shadow walkers.

New Orleans was a mysterious place.

"This is something I need to do," I said, after giving myself a mental beating. "I think."

"Once more with feeling," said Finn. He rose to his full height, which looked like more than it was in this low ceilinged room.

* * *

"Just so we're clear," I said again. "John will not be happy if you kill me."

The vampire sat on the edge of my bed, which I hadn't made that morning. The coverlet was velveteen and plush, a dark royal blue color. I was standing with my arms crossed over my chest. Finn looked like he wanted to laugh, but was holding back. "Very well. The idea of Constantine being unhappy with me is, I have to admit, inconvenient. I shall do my best not to kill you." He managed a weird bow from where he was positioned. I didn't like relying on someone else's name to carry a threat, but I also didn't like the idea of fangs plowing into my neck. I was stepping way out of my comfort zone today.

"How do we do this?"

"It's easy." He patted the bed next to him. "Usually there's sex involved, but since it's been at least seventy years since I've had a manipulator, I'll make an exception. And we've just met." If he was joking, he didn't do a good job of conveying it. We were in a bedroom after all. As though recalling something from very far away, he said, "It's shorter that way, too."

"All right," I muttered as I sat down next to him. It was bizarre sitting so close to something so alien. He looked like a human, but so obviously wasn't once you were right there up against him, it made your instincts cringe. There wasn't an ambient sense of life, if you will. No lingering warmth. He turned serious, and took my face in his hands. I was looking directly into those magnificent eyes, which for the moment were crinkled in a smile of anticipation.

"Evangeline," Finn said, in a coaxing, warm voice, "I want to thank you. Seriously."

I started to reply with my customary sarcasm, but found myself enveloped in a haze of delicious contentment. Anything I had to say had disappeared. A small voice in the back of my mind said, This is not normal- it's stupid! But it was drowned by a wave of teal, warm blue. I was still looking into his eyes, which was what did the trick. I felt a dopey smile cross my lips before his own grazed my neck, just barely touching it. I shivered.

And there was pain, yes, when the fangs pierced my skin. But it was so contradicted by how completely happy I felt, and I mean happy in literally every sense. I would have had sex with him if he'd asked me now. I probably made some kind of noise, and I was only dimly aware of a pair of very strong, cold arms holding me up, holding me close to his chest. The sensation of blood leaving my body was dull but overpowering, because that and his arms were all that I could register. It went on, for minutes... an hour... it was hard to say. When I couldn't keep myself upright anymore, he placed me gently down on the bed, his weight on top of my body. All I wanted to do was go to sleep.

Interestingly, the first dream I entered into belonged to Chas. Well, I say belonged to Chas, but I think I pulled him in with my proverbial tractor beam. "Oh my God," he said. "You're dead."

"No," I said, peacefully. "I'm not."

We were, oddly enough, in the tiny Starbucks that was down the block from John's apartment. It was crowded, though ostensibly not real because the many customers made no sound. Why had his brain chosen this location? It was so boring. "What's going on then?" asked Chas, looking around him like he was in a, well, dream.

"I let a vampire drain me," I replied happily, forgetting to preface this declaration with the information that this vampire knew John and I was probably a little safer for that.

"Jesus Christ!" Chas exclaimed. "Why the fuck would you do that?"

I shrugged. Evidently the high I was feeling transferred over into my astral self too. "Is John asleep?"

Chas gaped at me. "You'd know better than I would."

* * *

He was. And if Chas choosing a Starbucks was too dull, John's psyche choosing a church was too ironic. If I knew my churches correctly, this one was the San Lorenzo in Florence. "Classy," I remarked, strolling toward him. He was sitting in a pew in the back of the nave, looking around him curiously. This was quite the beautiful church to have chosen: everything glistened in shades of gray. The windows, far above us, let in the cloudy, outside light. The church itself was empty, but we could hear the sounds of the busy street market which bordered the church on the outside.

"I always did like it here," he said indifferently. "What's happened?" I sat in the pew behind him, but knelt on the ground and folded my arms on the hard, glossy wood. I grinned. If only he knew how much easier this dream manipulating had gotten. It felt like... walking now. Walking through different doors to different people's brains. I controlled it- not the other way around. "You're not dead." He said it definitely: my aura would look much, much different if I was dead.

"Finn," I said, "is currently draining me. Well, he might have stopped by now. I can't really tell. Did you know shadow walkers and vampires have an unholy alliance?"

"He's doing what?" John asked, gripping my forearm suddenly.

"Relax." Like I said, it seemed like my physical high had transmuted itself into one I carried with me through worlds. I think regularly, I would also be concerned by someone saying they were being drained by a vampire. John stared at me like I'd grown two heads. I'd explain the logistics and the history of shadow walkers and vampires later. "I think he's got it under control. He's got no reason to kill me anyway. I used you as a threat and he seemed legitimately cowed by it. Hey," I said brightly. "Have you ever... you know... in a dream? And I don't mean a real dream. I mean a dream like this."

"Ah, no," he said, correctly interpreting my middle-school suggestiveness. He looked slightly alarmed at my bubbly happiness, and even more alarmed at my lack of concern that in the real world, my life force was being whittled away by a vampire. "Are you high, too?"

I frowned. "You know, I think it's part of their magic, or it's endorphins or something. I'm not really sure. If I die for a bit, I get to come back and be all powerful and shit. It seemed like a good idea, because I wasn't about to barely kill myself or anything." I smiled. "Have you ever had sex in a church?"

John's eyebrows knit together. "Surprisingly, no." He snapped his fingers under my nose and I laughed. I'd figured a dream might be the only place we could have sex and not be interrupted. "Why did you let him do this? What if he was lying?"

"I don't think he was. I can already feel a difference with all this. I've never done any illusions this complete." I gestured around grandly. "And I just told you," I said blithely. "Sadly, I don't think studying voodoo like I said I would, would have done me near as much good. Erzulie Dantor isn't like, in charge of shadow walkers."

There was fear, and pain, in his deep brown eyes. I wondered at that, because I was fine. "I wish you hadn't done this." His somber tone quelled me for a minute. I leaned over the few inches there were between us, and before he could stop me, I kissed his lips briefly. "You're going to end up dead. Finn has control, as far as vampires go, but-"

I stopped him from finishing his sentence. "You're going to know if I die, right?"

He scoffed. "Yes."

"And you're going to know, no matter how minute it is? You'll be able to see it when I come back, too."

"Yes."

"Then do me a favor and shut up. If I end up a ghost, you can tell me then."

"That's not what I had in mind," he said, a bite in his voice.

"John, what happens if this really works?" I asked him, trying to be as serious as I could, because I knew I was taking this seriously regardless of how I was acting right now. Impulsive decisions are my weakness, which I also knew, but this one was the worst one I'd made in years. "Wouldn't you take the chance? Don't say you wouldn't- I know you would. You've probably taken the same kinds of chances tons of times." I saw the answer in his expression, and realized some of him understood me perfectly. The rest of him was afraid I'd overdone it. Completely.

He inhaled loudly. "There's a lot that's happened since you've left." He didn't answer my question, which I thought was a cop-out. And what possibly could have happened in that short an amount of time? The tiny, still logical part of me said a lot really could have happened, considering the bigger context of things at the moment.

"I've only been gone three days! I'm coming back tomorrow. Well, provided I'm not dead or about to pass out if I'm still alive. I might have to stay and take some extra time to recover."

"I'll tell you all about it when you come back," said John firmly. It was great of him to assume I was coming back. "There- you just crossed over." He looked at the area just above my head, waiting for something else to shift. His eyes narrowed, and I knew he was waiting for my aura to bounce back to life. I didn't feel much different. In the very back of my mind, I thought, Well, I don't want to be a ghost. He doesn't want me to be either. "Come on, you son of a bitch," he said with a snarl.

"You know," I said, detached from his urgency, "I could have had you do it. You could have strangled me until I passed out and died for like two seconds. That might have been better. I should have said no thanks to the vampire and flown back to LA once he'd told me about everything... it would have been better. Less sexy though. Well, maybe."

John wasn't actually listening to me. I could tell. Finally, his eyes filled with relief. "You're live." He shook me by the shoulders, once, for emphasis. "When you wake up, you get away from the vampire. I don't care if you have to drag yourself."

"That's probably not a bad call, John Constantine. You've learned something after all," said another voice. It was a voice I knew by now. We both turned to see Rosalie sitting in the pew closest to us. I grinned as John raised his eyebrows. "Though I have to say, you have backbone, _chere._"


	8. A Demon Provoked

**A/N: **I'm tinkering very slightly with the timing of Beeman's murder, Angela getting back in touch with her powers, and basically the whole rising action of the film. (Which I thought was a little sloppy anyway, especially after Angela gets kidnapped by Gabriel and taken back to the asylum.) Just be aware! I haven't ignored the plot of the movie to do my own thing, or forgotten about it. :)

* * *

John stared at the old woman with suspicion in his eyes. I merely laughed and said, "Hey Rosalie."

She was wearing the same colorful clothes she had the last time we'd met, but something about her demeanor had changed. She gave off a faint golden shimmer and looked distinctly triumphant. "There's something you ought to know," she said to me. Her uncharacteristic gentleness caught me off guard and I sobered a little. "I'm Granne."

"You've told me," I said. "I already know."

She shook her head and the scarves in her hair tinkled with their glittering beads and tiny bells. She was a blaze of colors in a church full of deep, serene grey. "That vamp dosed you good," she said, slapping her knee delightedly. "No, child, your Loa... she sent me to talk to you. This was the best guise I could find. You'd trust me this way- any other apparition and you wouldn't."

"You're who, now?" John said, in a voice harder than flint. He took what I liked to call his demon-fighting stance. It's very distinctive; if you've seen him do it, you know what he's about to do. Myself, I was trying to reconcile what she was saying with what I'd assumed to be true. I cast barely a glance at him as I spoke. It didn't seem off the wall. Actually, it didn't surprise me when I really thought about Erzulie as a whole.

Another aspect of Erzulie, Granne Erzulie was akin to St. Anne. She was a much kinder, motherly energy than her compatriots were. "She's Granne Erzulie," I breathed to him, as the reference clicked into place. It was kind of like the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit deal.

Rosalie grinned, revealing some missing and blackened teeth. "You _do_ have a grandmere Rosalie, and her husband _was_ a shadow walker. So using her form just seemed appropriate. Dantor is mute; she don't speak much to mortals. She also knew," said the old woman with wicked humor, "that you'd block her out if she tried to appear in your dreams again. And she's been watching your escapades fondly, believe you me."

"Did she _want_ me to seek out a vampire?" I cried. "You knew what I had to do, and you didn't say anything? I could have killed myself if I knew what had to be done- oh." There were a lot of things wrong with that statement, including the idea that I might very well have stayed dead if there had been no one to bring me back. That and I'd go to Hell for doing it. John stiffened but didn't interject.

"Oh, well- she nudged the vampire with a penchant for shadow walkers to go for a stroll on the Rue Dauphine... I subtly nudged you that you should go to New Orleans. That boss of yours, well, he even dreamt that you ought to stay at that hotel. Funny how it worked out."

"What's in it for you?" John asked suddenly.

Frowning, Rosalie took her time to answer. "Well, this business about the world being thrown into chaos, back to the demons... it isn't good for any of the rest of us deities, now is it? Your God and your Devil get all the human spirits they want if the world ends- but where's the fun in that for all the rest of us?" She pointed to me. "She's a tool. A grand one, once she's finished with this vampire."

I watched John as color flared in his pale cheeks. "Do you know how it's happening? What's trying to help Mammon cross over?" Who was Mammon? I wondered, but I kept silent. Rosalie sounded like Finn. Humans weren't really the object of interest here, not their well-being anyway, just their souls and their ability to be manipulated.

These questions made Rosalie cackle. "That's shrouded from me. If we knew, we wouldn't need to operate through y'all." She shrugged. "And I don't suggest demanding information from a Loa unless you have something to bargain with, in future. I'm a nicer Loa than most, but I still have my price."

Something was pulling at me, taking my attention. It was a tingling that started near my midriff, and grew to flood my body. "I think I have to leave," I said. There was a weird cast to my voice as San Lorenzo began to flicker and fade out. I didn't think I was waking up; I was being prodded into a third dream. I said as much to my companions.

Rosalie was glaring reprovingly at John, who was glaring back like he'd enjoy trying to strangle her. "You two have fun," I muttered. I knew, though, that once I'd left, so would they. John would go back to a normal sleep, and Granne Erzulie would fade back into whatever wholeness she shared with her sisters.

Still sailing on a buoyant happiness, I was not prepared for seeing what I saw next. The space was wide, shrouded in a dirty white mist. It had no obvious walls, but the mist looked solid, and there was no way in or out. There was also no furniture or decoration of any kind. From the best I could make out, it would be a void, somewhere that wasn't really space, but some odd dimension that was annexed for the time being. I looked down at my feet which were as bare as they were in the waking world. Under them was more of the same roiling, milky colored mist. It probably, in reality, wasn't a true dream. It felt forced and contrived, made to fit when it shouldn't have.

Someone was supporting this place's existence with magic. At the far end of the room, or whatever it was, there were two figures I wouldn't have expected to be together in any reality. Their backs were to me, but I recognized Gabriel's tall, willowy frame and Balthazar's much smaller, narrow one. If they were talking, I couldn't catch anything they were saying.

Immediately upon seeing them, I wanted to be very far away. Unfortunately, Balthazar turned and grinned at me.

"Little shadow walker," he called. "You're very naughty, spying where you ought not to be." He was in his true form- that is, corpse-like, dead green and utterly terrifying. "What magic have you been doing to get here at last? I was worried you'd come sooner. That's the trouble with you people. You walk the ways humans really shouldn't be able to. It's good you're a dying breed."

Well- that was why he'd been so irked that I'd been practicing more magic. Luckily for him, at the time, it hadn't been the kind he'd anticipated. Which, I'm assuming, provided him and Gabriel with more quality alone time. They were planning something, not that I knew strictly what. But I could make an educated guess. I was the only one he felt could muck their privacy up, which was most likely the biggest reason why he was keeping such a strict eye on me. That, and he wanted to fuck me.

I couldn't answer Balthazar. He was walking swiftly toward me, crossing a distance of what looked like ten feet. Gabriel looked as peaceful as ever, and stood with his arms crossed behind his unlikely cohort. My vampire-induced high was dissipating as they came closer. I panicked, wondering how I could pull myself out of this when it had pulled me in so strongly, and started to run. The demon started to laugh.

I heard my name, once, unmistakably echoing through the void. When I reached the- for lack of a better term- wall, my hand went right through it, clasping a cold hand with long, graceful fingers. Balthazar had hold of my waist as I clutched the unknown hand.

And I woke up.

* * *

Finn was above me, and he held my hand with a quizzical expression on his face. When he saw I was awake, he let it fall gently to the bed. "What did you dream?" he asked quietly, the way you'd address an invalid. "You were flailing. Fit to be tied."

"I need to get back home," I said breathlessly.

I tried sitting up but failed as the room tilted back and forth. Finn forced me back down, and I tried fighting that, but against a vampire it's no use. They may not be as strong as half-breeds, but they're a lot stronger than us. I stared at him with no comprehension. He looked so much more... alive... than he had when I'd last seen him. His face was still very fair, but his cheeks were pink and lively. His eyes glowed that deep teal color, and his auburn hair was lustrous and looked inexplicably longer. Just barely.

"Too much blood loss, _petit four_," he said cheerfully. Of course. That's why I felt so shitty. I'd died for all of five seconds. And that was why he looked so good. He handed me an apple juice, produced seemingly from nowhere. I sipped it dutifully.

"I thought you said _petit fours _were virgins," I muttered. My heart was beating faster than a rabbit's. Balthazar was going to kill me the second I got back to Los Angeles if he couldn't just do so now.

Finn said easily, "You're adorable like one. Hard to break the habit. Anyway- what business has you so worked up?" He still had a hand laid on the space of skin above my breast, restraining me. He could feel my rampant heartbeat.

"I think I just found something out that I'll possibly die for," I said. "But John has to know. What time is it?"

Balthazar wasn't the issue. The issue was Gabriel. Even if _they_ weren't responsible for all this "end of the world" stuff, they were still, to use the vernacular, up to no good. I wasn't giving them any benefit of the doubt. Gabriel wouldn't want it known that he was conspiring with Balthazar, even if they were only conspiring about what to have for breakfast. He was an angel. An Archangel. I couldn't fathom what they could be doing together, but maybe I was naïve.

He checked his watch, which was on his free wrist. "About 4:45. It's a little earlier in Los Angeles, if you'd want to risk calling him." I noticed there was only the faintest red tinge to his lips. Otherwise, there was no blood anywhere. Such a prim vampire. I hesitantly let my fingers wander up to my neck, where'd he'd bit. The punctures were still raw, but they weren't gaping. Finn saw this and smiled. "Our saliva somehow- and don't ask me how, please- minimizes the injuries. Blame evolution."

When he was sure I wouldn't try and go bounding off the bed, he took his hand away and waited for my response. I didn't want to go back to sleep, but I would have to wait until later this morning- at least- to catch a flight home. I nodded toward my bag, weakly. "Grab my cell." Finn fished it out, only gingerly avoiding the crosses and Holy Water I'd left in there. I'd ask him about that sometime. They didn't seem to be hurting him, exactly. Without waiting to be told, he found John's number and called it. There was a short delay before he spoke.

"Yes- hi John. We seem to have developed a problem," Finn said. He paused, pacing the room soundlessly as a cat. "No. She's on the bed." A longer pause. "No! I'm not _that_ lascivious anymore. Oh, I mentioned foreplay but she didn't seem keen-" the vampire made a face. "Right. Anyway, here she is, she can explain. I want to hear it myself."

"Hello," I said. "So, ah... I don't know how to put this, but Balthazar and Gabriel are together. Working together, that is. After I got pulled out of San Lorenzo, I got shoved somewhere else."

John said, "What did you see?" I loved that we were past the point where he'd have to specify that I'd seen it in a dream.

"I wasn't supposed to see anything, but something pulled me in. They were in a weird foggy place, talking about something. Balthazar sensed me first and might have done something if I hadn't woken up. He said... he said he'd been waiting for me to barge in on them. I think that's why he's been so fixated on me. He said shadow walkers can walk ways normal humans can't. But evidently we have to be all awakened and full-fledged."

"Probably a good guess," said John with a hollow cough. He was troubled, I could hear it in his tone, but he wouldn't do any extensive talking to me until we were both in person. According to him, there were already things he needed to tell me about.

"John."

"What?"

"I don't think they were literally dreaming. I think they were somewhere extensively private. Somewhere no one else could get to. Wherever that would be."

* * *

The second I set foot in LAX I felt more exhausted than I had in my entire life. The busy, relentless bustle of the airport terminals was disconcerting, and even though I'd only traveled with a large carry-on, my arm felt like it was going to fall off. My sunglasses slipped from my hair and would have clattered to the floor if I hadn't hastily grabbed them. Even so, it was a delayed reaction. Anemia combined with giving pints of blood to a vampire did not make for a happy Evangeline. There were shadows under my eyes and my skin had a beige undertone.

I should have spent more time in New Orleans to recover, but it didn't seem to be my most pertinent concern. I was alive, if beaten, and that was the important thing. I knew I'd be feeling ill for days. Finn had offered a trade, some of his blood for mine, but I didn't feel up to experimenting even further with a vampire. He had a shrewd look in his eyes as he'd offered, and I disliked it immediately. He'd insisted it would make me feel better than I'd ever felt, but it didn't seem right.

Chas was waiting at one of the saturated pick-up curbs. He came out of the cab to grab my bag and tossed it in the trunk. I would have had River come, but he had exams for his summer term and I didn't want to pull him away from that, even if the kid probably could pass them in about twenty minutes each. "You okay?" asked Chas. I'd had to wait an extra night longer than I'd wanted.

We pulled into traffic and merged onto the hectic freeway. How I'd missed late afternoon traffic. I shrugged. "As ever." He took in my enhanced paleness, the darkness under my eyes, and his gaze even glossed over the still-visible bite marks on my neck. You had to know they were there to see them, because they didn't look the way movies make them out to be, but they were there. "What's happened?"

Chas had lost some of his aplomb; he looked tired. Something in him had shifted. "Hennessy is dead."

"How?" I looked over at him from the passenger's seat.

The smile Chas gave me reminded me far too much of John, who was older and more cynical than his years should allow. "Beeman is dead too. Angela and John found him."

What little blood there was in my face left it. I sagged in the seat. "They were getting too close._ We_ were getting too close." It was a mean feat I wasn't dead too- I was feeling it was only a matter of time.

Changing lanes before he answered, Chas said, "We know who did it." Naturally they knew. His knuckles were white on the wheel. "I don't know how much John has filled you in, but Balthazar influenced them and now they're dead. Even if he didn't physically kill them, he was responsible." He looked at me imploringly. "John wants to go after him. It got complicated. Oh- Angela has the Second Sight again... that's how he found out about Balthazar. He'll tell you, better than me. There's more though."

"Go on," I urged him. That was a lot to process. It didn't surprise me about Angela though.

Swallowing, Chas explained, "This demon, the son of the Devil, Mammon- he's trying to cross over. Again. Only this time he has some serious advantages. That was the very last thing Beeman and John talked about. It's probably why Bee was murdered." His young face turned harsh. "It was the information we needed though. Everything makes sense, with Isabel, and even your guy who came and stole the Satanic Bible. I could see how this would be a group effort on the demons' part- they needed a couple of litanies in there. And the police probably found the Bible only because the demons were finished with it."

"Wait. The Devil had a son?"

"Apparently. And if he comes to our world, it becomes a Hell dimension- pretty much like your dream grandma said."

"Oh, that. You know," I said, trying to bring a slight amount of humor to the situation, "you were nearly right about what she really was."

"What was she?"

"A Loa. Talking to me for my Loa because mine is mute."

"There you go," Chas said, mustering up a smile.

The bowling alley looked sadder somehow, but that was probably only because I knew Beeman had been murdered there. How could a bowling alley be sad? The setting sunlight flared off its windows and burnt orange in my eyes. I don't know if it was my recent endeavors or a side-effect of having been "awakened," but the effect was more irritating than pretty. We quickly went inside.

John was sitting lankly at his kitchen table, eating what looked to be beans on toast. I raised an eyebrow. "I fetched her, John- are we going after the bastard _now_?" demanded Chas.

"If I hang around long enough, he might just come after me," I said, "and we can save ourselves the trouble. But I don't think I'll be the easy kill he expects anymore."

As the sun went down, I started feeling increasingly better. Not wonderful, but better. I tossed my bag to the floor and sat on the other empty chair. John was chewing slowly, looking from me, to Chas, then to me again. For someone who had just lost two friends and lived to tell about it, he seemed very calm. But then, his bizarre serenity had colored the rest of us too. Was I panicking? No. I was making jokes. Was Chas panicking either? Absolutely not. He went and sat on the couch.

"You look different," John said.

I didn't want to tell him that even to myself I looked different. I could see my aura now, without trying, and it was a mix of the bright lavender and a new jet black that crackled. I even saw them on other people, but the best advantages set in after dark. Now I had excellent night vision even in absolute darkness, and in conjunction I could catch thoughts. _Brief _snatches of thoughts. Maybe it tied into what Finn had said about being able to influence people, which I would have wanted to attribute to my natural charisma and charms... or it was all one and the same, really. If I could manipulate dreams, why shouldn't I be able to manipulate thoughts? They all came from the same place. And, mind you, I'd only had one night- last night- to play around with all this.

"Yes. I look like a zombie."

I had to laugh when he said, "I've seen zombies. You don't look like one."

"Tell me what's been going on," I said, stealing a piece of his toast without asking. I was starving. "Chas gave me the abridged version."

"Not much more to tell than that," he admitted. "Other than Mammon needs 'divine assistance' to cross over, and that probably means that Gabriel has something to do with it, or he knows who does. Wouldn't have known that if you hadn't seen him with Balthazar."

"Go team."

"And Angela's psychic again- that was interesting. Funny that it happened around the same time you were tapping into your powers, because I sort of had to 'awaken' _her_. My way was better," he said provocatively.

"What'd you do?"

"Drowned her."

"My way was more exotic. Not many vampires around anymore," I grinned lopsidedly, knowing he was staring at my neck. Jealous, yes, but also curious. "So she and Isabel shared more than looks. That's how it goes sometimes. But you already knew that."

"Obviously," said John. His eyes glittered at me. He was thinking that I still looked good even when I'd been through the mill, which I thought was extremely gratifying.

"What's the plan?" asked Chas impatiently, even eagerly. "We can't just sit around here waiting for some demon to kill the rest of our friends and bring the Devil's son home for dinner."

"I was wondering that myself," said a smoky, female voice from the doorway. Angela had come. "I'm not letting you go after him on your own, John." Out of all the auras I'd seen so far, Angela's was the hardest to get used to. She'd gone to having a very quiet one, to having a very assertive, glittery one. I squinted at her.

"Do you even know where he is?" I asked John, the same time John told Angela, "The Hell you aren't."

Angela protested, "Why shouldn't I?" at around the moment Chas said to me, "Working overtime in an office building downtown. Real swanky."

That figured, from what I'd seen of the demon's upscale tastes. Personally, I was willing to let John take Balthazar on, because I thought he could handle it much better than anyone else in the room. The rest of us would just slow him down. But Angela seemed to genuinely think she should go, and so wore John down to exasperated, unwilling surrender. I watched them dispassionately. I was happier with discussing strategy, not combat.

John rose from the table and took me by the shoulder. "Wait. I'll get what we need to know out of Balthazar. He _has _to know the exact mechanics of everything. I can't deport him before he tells us." I shrugged; he was probably right. And how many people had he killed in the past month? I thought, quickly, of the bodies in the bar. He deserved to be deported.

Mutinously, Chas stood up and looked John directly in the eyes. "You need me there too." Angela and I watched John, knowing what his answer would be.

Quietly, John told his apprentice, "No. He's vicious. I trust you, but how do you think I'd feel if you ended up as another ghost following me around?" I decided it was a very good thing that I hadn't mentioned my newly developing compulsive powers to Chas. He stared at John, his expression impassive, and finally nodded. Once. He was unhappy, but he'd stay here with me. The detective and the exorcist left the apartment with less than a backward glance.

"He's right," I murmured. Chas turned from the windows to me.

"He probably is," admitted the teenager sullenly.

Ten minutes passed in tense silence and the room fell into darkness. I had gotten up to turn on the lights when we both heard a chilling voice drift up through the hallway. "Evangeline..."

I froze. "Oh fuck," I said flatly.

"Evangeline, I do believe I have something of yours." I crept to the door, although I don't know why I tried for stealth, because he already knew we were up here. Balthazar was downstairs. "Your brother's with me and he's looking a little rough around the edges."

My throat constricted so tightly I started to cough. I wasn't an exorcist. I had no idea how to deal with demons when they were being a problem, much less when they were ransoming my little brother. It was a good thing Chas had been so well trained. Although he bordered on being foolhardy sometimes, he'd been schooled in what weapons to use in times like these.

"Shit," he muttered, not before opening a massive weapons chest and extracting an archaic looking shotgun and some ampules of what looked like Holy Water. That jarred me into action. I was out the door in two seconds, ignoring Chas yelling, "Wait!" and I flew down several flights of stairs in another fifteen. It was so instinctive to rush to River's protection I just did it without thinking, fatigue be damned. My body could complain, so long as it listened to me. Balthazar was waiting because he knew he held the one thing that would make me come running. He chuckled as I burst out into the empty bowling alley.

"Did you know," he began conversationally, "the psychic who births a true demon onto this plane has to be a female? Silly rule, isn't it- and society says we're so excited about gender equality."

His fingers were digging into River's neck, leaving welts. On closer inspection, my brother hadn't gone without a fight- he was bruised, bloody, and his right arm fell at an odd, crooked angle. It was broken. Luckily, he was unconscious, but I worried that Balthazar had done something to his head. "I found _this_ powerful one, and thought it would be a good way of teaching you to mind others' privacy when he died as Mammon was in transit. But as it turns out, we already had someone else in mind. A woman." He was so annoyingly nonchalant, and they'd always _had_ someone in mind. Isabel first, now Angela.

This was just personal.

"Put River down," I snarled. "It wasn't like I saw what I saw on purpose."

Continuing like I hadn't even spoken, he said, "It's a pity Angela's not here like I thought she might be. Oh well, we have our eyes all _over _this city." He licked his lips, and let River fall heavily until he was supporting my much taller brother by his broken arm only. I flinched. "I'm just disappointed."

"What _do_ you want then?" I asked, my eyes on River's ashen face.

"To make a deal with you. Maybe. I've always wanted my own personal manipulator." The way he said manipulator made me blanch. "Seeing as I've found two of the last _living_ people Johnny Boy is attached to, though, I'm starting to rethink my plan."

Balthazar's gaze went over my shoulder, where I sensed Chas was standing, and he continued to dangle River by his arm. With absolutely no subtlety, Chas threw one of the little glass balls of Holy Water so that it broke on Balthazar's face. The effect was awful: his flesh sizzled and burned away to reveal his true looks. He laughed. Why the Hell was Chas bothering to chuck something so feeble at such a powerful demon? But it distracted him very momentarily, and I'm not the smartest person. Chas had given me a Hail Mary shot and I was going to take it.

I rushed forward, flinging myself at the demon so that he would at least lose his grip on River. He did, which sent River hurtling for the hard, dankly carpeted floor- and I would have cared more had I not been feeling the sensation of being hurled into the air by something with preternatural strength. I hit the wall behind me and crumpled to the ground in a dazed heap. Balthazar, who had no interest in Chas just yet, advanced upon me. Even though Chas had a blessed shotgun, the demon hadn't deemed him to be much of a threat. I was still gasping for air when Balthazar's hands pulled me up very roughly. I groaned, battling feelings of anger and sheer terror.

"What shall I do with you?" he breathed. For good measure, he hit me so hard on the side of my face I would have fallen if he hadn't been propping me up. I tasted blood in my mouth and gagged. I still couldn't breathe, and I could hear Chas swearing under his breath somewhere nearby. Dear God, could he not work that shotgun? My eyes were blurry from the force of his blow.

That's it. We were going to be slaughtered.

"Fuck me. Beat me," I choked out. We'd already ruled out killing me for the time being, not that I wanted either of the other two things. "Take your pick."

"You don't have much of an advantage in a fight, do you?" he asked me with a smile. "I know you have power. What's your problem, then?" His hands moved to constrict my neck. Lovely, he liked playing with his food before he ate it.

Let's see... I was mortally tired because of blood loss, probably injured from violently hitting a brick wall, and deathly afraid for my brother? That was my problem. Then it came to me. If Erzulie Dantor could see what was going on right this second, which I doubted (but hoped), she was probably mad as all Hell at Balthazar- whose hands were now cutting around my throat so tightly I was starting to see black spangles in the corners of my eyes. What was the point of having a Loa if she couldn't help me out in situations like this?

Maybe it was a lack of oxygen, but I started to call out to her in a way that I never had. I wasn't sure how to, and Chas was yelling while I was gasping. Not the most ideal circumstances for invoking your Loa. But she either eagerly answered or I had a sudden command of my psychic powers. Neither was likely but I needed some luck.

It was a little like fighting with the nothing man- a lot less visible in the end, though. I felt some alien, wild power moving through me, expelling outwards until Balthazar shook so violently that he staggered as I was repelled from him. He would have been perfectly fine if Chas hadn't miraculously used the shotgun. I couldn't see what happened next because the sheer force of everything had sent me sprawling on my back. Again. I lay face up, staring at the ceiling far above me, blinking, but I could hear the sound of bullets tearing into flesh. They were followed by the sound of the main entry doors being thrust open. The world was swirling. I coughed, feeling considerable relief that I wasn't being toyed with anymore and having only a dull thought for River. I realized I was probably in shock.

My ass had officially been kicked and I was going to stay right here on this dirty floor until someone physically moved me away.

"Chas!" yelled John. I couldn't even turn my head to see where he was.


	9. The Chair and the Vampire

"Can you walk?"

I thought I trusted the voice that was snaking through my ears. My eyes had closed at some point between landing on the floor and now, but I wasn't really sleeping. I remembered hearing horrible sounds: Balthazar and John fighting. John winning. The demon hissing and trying to regain some of his awful cold laugh.

"What's _Sangre de Dio_?" I asked, before I even opened my eyes to look at John properly. It was the last thing I'd heard Balthazar say clearly. I felt him lift me gently, very gently, probably because he was thinking I'd been hurt, but I didn't think I was too badly off. "I mean, blood of God. I got that, but I hardly think you two were talking about Communion." Finally I stared at him. I found I could walk, but there was a pronounced disconnect between my legs and mind. Refusing to look at the lank, twitching body that was strewn on one of the cheap, plastic tables that dotted the bowling alley, I kept my eyes on John's. He was supporting me- a good 120 pounds (give or take)- like I was a small child. But John was a lot bigger and stronger than me.

"Mammon found the Spear of Destiny," John told me. "How well do you know your Crucifixion story?"

"Pretty damn well," I said, gritting my teeth against the massive bruising pain that was spreading from my back to linger in my thighs. "The Spear. Christ's blood. Divine assistance. No better assistance than that."

"You got it."

"And Angela is... a bridge." Would she have been a bridge if John hadn't helped her be a psychic again?

"Exactly."

"Where's River?" I halted and wouldn't go any further until he answered me. A crease had formed along his forehead.

"Chas has him. He took off right when I got here and they're probably at the hospital by now. You should go too- but Chas couldn't grab _both_ of you and run." My fear abated itself a little. Since neither of them were minors, they wouldn't need me there to authorize any treatment River needed.

This was beginning to be a routine conversation. "I can't pay for it even if I go. River's got insurance through school. Besides. I want to help you, and your help is wearing kind of thin." I hobbled along stubbornly, refusing to let him take all my weight. I was mostly fine, except for being stiff and battered. I thought if there was any internal bleeding I would have felt much worse by now. We made our way to the elevator, which even I wasn't going to argue that we needed to take, and he eased me in before making his own way inside. I leaned against one of the walls, scowling. "Don't tell me you won't need it. And _don't _feed me some bullshit about getting injured or killed."

Tentatively, John nodded, sizing me up. The side of my face Balthazar had struck felt like it was developing into several new, pretty colors, and that part of my lip was puffy and swollen. "Angela's been taken. We got to that office I thought Balthazar would be in, and he wasn't there. Hardly ten minutes later something literally pulled her out of the building."

"He said they had their eyes all over the city," I said. "He wasn't concerned about her not being _here_." I tried opening my mouth a little more widely than it took to talk, and quickly stopped when it throbbed warningly. "Gabriel's helping him. He's got to be."

Nodding, John said pragmatically, "Yeah, but we can't worry too much about that until he comes out into the open to play. Angels are tricky. They've got all sorts of ways to stay hidden from us." There was bitterness in his words and I flinched. The elevator stopped and the doors creaked open. I limped my way out, clinging to the doors and then the wall just so I wouldn't fall over. I hoped I'd recover a little before we went off and accosted any angels or dark forces, but I most likely wouldn't. So- this was what it felt like to be a hero.

"What's in it for Gabriel?" I wondered wistfully. "If we can't trust angels, who _do_ we trust?"

John had come up next to me and was about to open his door, but he glanced at me, pausing. There was pity in his expression, but I was actually serious, not looking for reassurance. "Lucifer was an angel."

He took me by the crook of my waist and half-carried me inside the apartment, and sat me lightly down on one of the spindly kitchen chairs. Fishing through the cabinet, he produced a huge bottle of cheap, off-brand vodka, the kind you use to get drunk with, and put it on the table before me. A second later a large mug was right next to it. "Rinse your mouth out." He turned the lights on. Well, the mug was considerate. I didn't think I had the resolve to make it to the sink.

I did as he said and nearly spat the alcohol back out the second it was inside my mouth. It burned and stung the cuts fiercely, but there was wisdom in killing germs as soon as I could. I forced myself to keep my mouth shut and swished, flinching. With enormous relief, I reached for the mug as he sat across from me. "What do we do now?" I asked.

"Midnite's."

"We're going clubbing."

My sarcasm earned me a grin, one that I wasn't expecting. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Why haven't we left yet?"

Without looking or standing up, he twisted to grab a small towel that was hanging from the oven's handle. He made sure it was saturated with vodka and pressed the fabric to my brow before I could protest. From the vivid burning that was taking place, I gathered I had a cut there too, and gripped the edge of the table to avoid shrieking. I'd just been through much more than being doused with alcohol, but it still stung like a bitch.

"Since you've decided to forgo any medical help, I thought you needed to clean up. Not to say time _isn't_ of the complete essence right now. Don't worry. We're leaving." He brought the white towel away and I saw it was stained red and pink before he tossed it into the sink.

We stared at each other for a little bit, despite the comment about time being of the essence. Which it was. Having the air of someone who is internally berating himself, he tipped my face towards his- I winced- and we kissed. He was very careful not to hurt me too much, but kissing me was something he'd wanted to be doing for some time before now. I read it in his mind before he said anything aloud. Even if my face was all cut up and my lip was split, it still felt spectacular. This was far beyond our first kiss and definitely beyond the quick, befuddled peck I'd given him in his dream in San Lorenzo.

When we broke apart, I remarked, "You still have horrible timing."

He held my face in his hands, clearly reluctant to let me go. "So I'm told." He wasn't applying any pressure but it still made my jaw ache. Thing was, I still didn't want him to stop. I smiled, and he resumed kissing me with more enthusiasm than I was prepared for.

"Ow," I squeaked against his lips.

"Kinky. But we really _should_ get going," commented Chas, who had snuck in the door so quietly we hadn't even heard him come inside. "John, are we taking Angela's car or the cab?"

The thought of John driving Angela's car amused me momentarily. He'd had to come back here somehow; I just hadn't thought of it until now.

"Don't care," John said, releasing me. "Whichever you can drive faster."

* * *

Midnite's entry was totally and utterly empty. I shivered, used to seeing the place so full of activity. A bouncer was still there though. John was about to punch him down to get inside, because he was just that far past his patience, something which Chas was anticipating with untold glee. As I predicted, my ability to read fleeting thoughts was growing with the darkness, and by now it was entirely night. I plucked at John's sleeve. "Hang on," I said.

The two men looked at me, puzzled, but I walked right up to the bouncer and caught his gaze with mine. He was going to hold up a card for me, but I quelled that urge with a tiny outpouring of contentment, directed at him. _You don't have to do that, _I coaxed him. His face relaxed and looked vague. "We're just here to see Midnite," I said sweetly, feeling slightly exhilarated by my power. "It's on business. All three of us." I looked into his blue eyes and pushed just a little more. He smiled and lifted the rope for us.

"Yeah, sure," he said tonelessly. "Go on then." I walked past him into the darkened club with a grin, beckoning to Chas and John. John had half a smile on his face, but Chas was in considerable awe.

"You hypnotized him," said Chas. "That was so fucking cool."

"It's not hypnosis. It's thought manipulation," I said.

"Still cool."

We were walking through the empty bar with purpose until John took the lead and stopped us before the padded, brass-buttoned door that led to Midnite's private office. He leveled the flame-thrower like thing he'd been carrying with him- apparently it held dragon's breath, and here I'd thought there were no such things as dragons- and blasted away at the door. "Wait here."

Chas and I exchanged a glance. Rather than argue with the man who had the deadly weapon, even though Chas had left the shotgun in the trunk of the taxi, we settled ourselves in two chairs at one of the many empty tables. John kicked the door more fully open and we heard justifiable sounds of outrage from within, which weren't unprovoked, I had to admit. "How's my brother?" I asked Chas, eyeing the door and trying not to hear the argument that raged behind it. If I were Midnite, I'd try to kill John too, but I thought we were quite past the formalities now.

"The last I heard, he had the broken arm and a couple of cracked ribs," Chas said gently. "It wasn't like they let me inside with the doctor and all, but I heard them going through triage. He's stable, don't worry."

"What story did you tell them?"

"I said I found him like that at school on my way to class, that maybe somebody had mugged him or something and just left him there."

I marveled at the simple brilliance of it. "Good job." Any other story and the doctors might have gotten suspicious, maybe even called the police. Chas looked very much like a student as well, and when he chose to he could radiate a bland sort of sincerity that was very convincing. I'd be surprised if anyone accused him of whaling on River, and anyway, what sane person would take someone they'd beaten up to the emergency room afterward. "Did you give them my information about me? I'm his only living relative. Well, locally anyway."

"Of course I did. I happened to know River from an accounting class we had together, and I knew he lived with his hot sister. But I also said you were out of town until at least tomorrow," he said, smirking. "I've had a lot of practice inventing convincing lies. They won't contact you until at least then. Or maybe they've tried and left a voicemail."

"Thanks," I told him earnestly. "River's all I have."

"I know."

The look we shared was one of pure understanding. Guiltily, I remembered I hadn't asked Chas about his family. I didn't know much about his story when maybe I should have. But if we didn't stop the world from ending, it really wouldn't matter. Chas was thinking that was how he felt about John.

A small eddy of cool air brushed past our table, but no one had entered Midnite's. "What was that?" I asked, standing up and looking around. Every nerve was on alert now, so I was a little jumpier than usual.

Chas frowned. He had stood as soon as I had, although he was a little quicker and less stiff. I had to steady myself on the table, but he was vigilant and upright, his eyes sparkling in the dimly lit room. "Nothing."

"Far from nothing." I felt a hand on my shoulder and relaxed: it was only Finn. "Blame Granne Erzulie for me being here, otherwise I'd let you fine people duke it out over the fate of the world." Chas looked at the tall, thin vampire, who was wearing Levi's and and a charcoal button-down shirt, distrustingly.

"Chas, this is Finn," I said, sitting down. "Finn, this is Chas, John's apprentice. So she got to your dreams too? Do vampires really even sleep like that?" Since I'd deemed it acceptable to sit, so did Chas, but he looked up at Finn from lowered brows as soon as I said the word vampire.

"We dream," Finn said enigmatically.

Unfortunately that was the moment both Midnite and John decided to emerge from their struggles, evidently having reached some kind of compromise. The infamous witch doctor was both stern and proud; his expression reminded me of a bird of prey, and he carried himself with the air of someone who has a lot of power but doesn't waste time with the trivial things. His black eyes looked out sharply from under the brim of a maroon fedora, glossed over Chas and I but landed swiftly on Finn, who was the picture of perfect ease. John blinked at the sight of his vampire "friend," and while he didn't look pleased, he didn't look as perturbed as Midnite did.

Midnite said, into a silence that was thick as cake batter, "Please, let me know which loophole you exploited in my spells to allow you in without my consent." His voice was smooth and rich, accented.

Something that was extremely disconcerting allowed me to hear what Finn was going to say before he said it. "Nice to see you, Midnite- after ten years. There's no loophole. Granted, yes, I didn't concern the bouncer with my presence. No need to. But even though you have a private establishment, it is open to the public, is it not?"

Whatever connection I felt to the human minds around me was nothing compared to what I felt with the vampire's. I swore out loud and Finn actually winked at me. Midnite scowled at him and then nodded. "What brings you here, Finn?" he asked tiredly. At least he smothered a smile behind one of his broad hands, as though he couldn't help smiling but felt like he shouldn't show that he was.

"A mutual acquaintance and impending doom," said Finn cheerfully, tucking some of his reddish hair behind his ear.

"And what is it you think you can help with?" asked John.

"Well, what are you about to go off and _do_?" the vampire queried. Chas and I also wanted to know, but we didn't have the courage to ask.

"I've convinced Midnite to let me use the chair." I noticed Midnite did not look happy at this summation.

"How primitive."

"It works."

"Yes, and so does throwing yourself off a bridge. Might I make a suggestion?"

John gave Finn a long look. I glared at Finn because I knew exactly what he was going to say next, though I didn't understand what it meant and I had a feeling it didn't mean good things for me. I also didn't know what 'the chair' was, or why a piece of furniture would help us with anything we needed to do next. "What?"

Finn came silently around my chair and rested his hands on both my shoulders. _You can manage it_, he thought to me. _It'll be different, but you can. _"Use her." Midnite turned his sharp gaze onto me while Finn continued. "She works directly with a Loa. You know what that means: they can facilitate great trances. I'm assuming that's what you need to use the chair for." Quiet followed his words and he looked from John to Midnite. "Of course, if someone wanted to fill me in on what was happening, that'd be perfect too."

"We'll do that on the way downstairs," said John finally, "to the chair." Voodoo spirits were too volatile, he was thinking. And I was too weak. I wasn't Midnite, after all. If he wanted someone to use voodoo to go into a trance, he would have asked Midnite already and had done with it. Midnite was out of practice, the fool, but he could-

Whether he meant that I was weak literally or figuratively, I took great offense. "Hey," I said indignantly.

_Not worth it just yet,_ Finn said to me, his magnetic teal eyes shining. _Wait._

* * *

Midnite had a basement, and in that basement was a magnificent collection of things that looked like they'd been looted from the world's best museums. I just about fainted when I thought I passed a Renoir that was laying innocently against the wall, propped up with a heavy Ming vase. We weaved through countless valuable objects: pieces of art, artifacts and mystical items that radiated dull power.

"And he has the Spear of Destiny," concluded John. He'd covered just about everything in two minutes. He and Finn had taken the lead, Chas scampered not far from them, and that left Midnite rounding up the rear with me. He was studying me curiously and with no shame. I felt a little self-conscious with my limping and dirty clothes, but that couldn't be helped. At least they marked me as a fighter of some sort. I hoped.

"What Loa have you?"

I started, jarred out of trying to keep up with Finn and John's conversation. "Me? Right. Erzulie Dantor." I waited for his reaction, and satisfyingly, got hardly any. Like John, he regarded me with a notably increased respect but didn't seem too taken aback.

"She's a fearsome lady," said Midnite sagely. Maybe his mind was more controlled than John's, but all I understood from it was faint approval. He walked beside me in close step. "Have you ever gone into a trance with her help?"

"I've had dreams that foretold the future, or seen things I shouldn't have while I was sleeping," I told him honestly. "But I haven't gone into an intentional trance, no."

This did surprise the witch doctor. "You are untrained?"

"Savagely untrained," I said, humbly. "Her power scared me when I was young, because it compounded my own powers and made them hard to control. I'm a shadow walker, not a mambo. Not even an initiate."

Midnite fell silent and thought. But it wasn't a bad kind of thought. I could tell as much from his face. We'd reached what I presumed to be the chair and it was a chair, all right. An old, solid electric chair that sat in a cleared-out room with vaulted ceilings. Immediately upon looking at it, I could feel the spirits it had claimed coercing us closer and I halted, balking. I didn't know its history and I didn't want to. Finn was still standing near John, but he was back inside my head, clearer than my own voice. _Last chance,_ he said.

_Last chance? For what?_

Finn's chuckle was kind. _Don't you see what this is for?_

_No_, I replied flatly.

_They're going to use this chair to spring John's soul into the crossroads between life and death. He needs to find out where Angela is, and since she's being veiled by forces none of us can assail, this is the only way to do it. Follow her essence into the shadow. Dramatic, isn't it? _I pictured an eye-roll with this question.

_Are you kidding?_

_I'm serious as the grave, _he assured me. _There's more though. Midnite thinks Mammon had to possess someone to get the Spear, and that person could still be floating around out there, somewhere. If he finds out what John is doing, he'll try to kill him. If the electricity pulsing through his body doesn't do it first._

I chewed on that. _Why are you telling me this?_

_Because you're impulsive. I can see inside your entire head, so there's no use in denying it. And Granne Erzulie is adamant that you have some part to play in all this, and so does John._ I'm_ naturally lazy. I would rather have stayed in New Orleans, but she kept on nagging at me. And to be honest, I like you more as I see more and more of what's inside your mind. Standing up to Balthazar like that, a little human-_

_Okay, okay. Shut up. What would I have to do- and would it waste more time?_

"Not much more," Finn said, coming over to where I stood watching Midnite and John prepare for using the chair. John was already strapped in, heavy leather digging into his wrists and ankles. "Midnite?"

"What?" Midnite was wary and I sympathized. In the short time I'd gotten to know Finn, he tended to have unpredictable ideas. Chas turned to watch us.

"If, say, we wanted to send little Evangeline into a trance here, we wouldn't _really_ have to invoke Erzulie Dantor, would we? I mean, not properly."

Midnite hesitated. "No, not if she's been marked already. But-"

"Excellent," said Finn, blandly harmless. "There, you see? All under your own steam, Evangeline."

John was livid. "This is bullshit. Midnite, just do it." They'd thrown a mixture of rum and water all over the cleared floor, and the rest of us were standing back accordingly. Midnite was brandishing some kind of halogen lamp on a long base, and I could see what he intended to do. If he broke the bulb and barely tapped the live filaments to the wet floor, the liquid would act as a speedy conductor and fry the person in the chair.

"I've already explained to her what you're trying to do," said Finn to John, crossing daintily over the wet part of the floor with hardly a splash. "A telepathic link is part of the deal with a human you've helped to cross over." John seemed like he wanted to spit in Finn's face. "And forgive me, but you're physically not in any state to be doing this expecting to survive after. With respect, Mr. Constantine, you're at the end of your rope and I don't see why you won't let someone else, someone whose link to the otherworld is fresher, to do this. Not to mention _she's_ not dying of lung cancer."

It was the first time I'd heard Finn get impatient. He wasn't just impatient, he was obviously disdainful and even though no one else knew this firsthand, he was annoyed with John for playing the hero. Finn, being a shrewd person, didn't hesitate to use those around him as resources. It was, I supposed, the reason why he'd survived so long as an immortal being. Underneath the affable exterior was a much harder, tougher interior- that of a predator.

Midnite had put the lamp down, safely out of the way of any damp. He was convinced, not that he needed any convincing. Chas looked intensely relieved. "John," he pleaded. "He's right." Midnite was wisely containing his opinion.

"Chas," said John, "grab the damn lamp." He wasn't struggling against his restraints yet, but he would be in another minute.

Chas crossed his arms and stayed where he was. "You're the one who's tied up, John."

"Midnite," John demanded through clenched teeth.

"I've already told you," Midnite said, "it will almost certainly kill you. But the world needs you to stay alive tonight. You are the only one who can deal with Mammon properly." He said the last part more begrudgingly, but he meant it. "If it weren't for that, I'd have nearly no other qualms."

I sighed and crossed the wet, standing by Finn. "I don't know exactly what I'm getting into, but he has a point. Maybe you could survive, and maybe not. I'm not willing to find out because I don't want to deal with the son of the Devil without you." John narrowed his eyes at me and a few weeks ago, I might have quailed. But it didn't work now. I did something I might not have tried if he wasn't restrained. "Stop struggling and let me do it," I breathed, subduing his will with mine. It was much harder than it had been with the bouncer, because John was simply a willful person. But in the end, his face took on the same vagueness.

I didn't know how long my soporific effect would last on him, and I was both very nervous and eager to begin. "Search for her," Midnite instructed. "As soon as you find out where the girl is, come back. It shouldn't be difficult if your Loa favors you and you are under her gaze. Watch for Mammon's human body; he will be aware of your interference, although I do not know whether you'll be in the void long enough for him to retaliate. Hopefully not." He had a strange faith in me, especially after seeing how I'd dealt with John. Raising his hands above my head, he murmured a benediction in a mixture of French and Latin. Then he produced a wicked, sharp looking dagger from a sheath concealed beneath his plum colored waistcoat.

Chas looked on with keen interest, leaning on some kind of umbrella stand that was made of brass. "Bloodletting. Of course!" he said, proceeding to babble about some book or other where he'd learned about the importance of bloodletting in voodoo ritual. I, however, was swallowing very deeply. I'd been okay until I'd seen the dagger.

"I think I can accomplish that _far_ more neatly," said Finn, swooping in at the chance to sample more of my blood.

That's_ the only reason you were so adamant, _I accused.

_Only one of the reasons, but a large one, _he conceded smoothly._ I will toss you into any trance faster, anyway. Particularly since you've _already_ lost so much blood. Your body is still recovering from three days ago. But the good news is, I don't have to drain you until you die- we'll be able to tell when you've slipped over. And, you'll be able to harness that energy._

"You'll have to offer some to the Loa," cautioned Midnite. I could tell that Chas was about to say the same thing.

"I don't mind sharing," said Finn as Midnite handed me a very large, very expensive bottle of crème de cacao, which Erzulie Dantor preferred to rum as an offering.

I knew what I had to do. Before I swallowed any, I spat a small gulp through my teeth so that it sprayed the floor. Simultaneously, before I could flinch, Finn had bitten quickly into my wrist. In an odd mirror of my own gesture, he drew deeply and spat onto the floor too. Midnite clearly wasn't squeamish about bodily fluids, because he made some kind of approving noise as the bright crimson mixed with the milky brown. I thought, Oh God, I'm going to land myself in the hospital with all this damn blood giving.

I felt, rather than heard, Finn's quiet laughter against my wrist. I was taking shallow breaths, willing myself not to freak out. Before I knew it, the room had left my sight and I was only conscious of a dull, pulsating throb where the vampire had bitten me.

* * *

It was so dark; I felt it pressing on my eyes even though they were open. I could hear the sounds of drums, ancient hypnotic drums which my body knew but my brain did not.

I concentrated on finding that kinship with Erzulie Dantor that I had felt as a teenager in my dreams. It didn't take long. For all I was aware of in the waking world, I could have been standing, sitting, or lying in a pool of my own spit and blood. It made no difference where I was while I was in this warm, dark and pulsing void that smelled like sandalwood. She appeared to me as a ferocious, black warrior woman, bare breasted and haughty, but I was sure her eyes held fondness for me. It was about time we'd met on better terms, so I screwed up my courage.

I did not shy away from her as I had so many times before, but I met her bold gaze after bowing low. "I'm sure you know why I've come."

She nodded. "Can we not waste time then?" I asked. "I'm sorry- it's just, it's important. I need to find Angela."

If she could make sounds for me to hear, I was positive she'd be laughing at me, but she merely nodded again and gestured into some of the whirling violet- violet was too simple, really there was every jewel tone imaginable in there- darkness that stretched before me. Go that way and you will find her, her gesture said.

I aligned myself in that direction, whatever it was, and said to my Loa, "I'll come back. I'll find a better way to see you." I thought I could, anyway, even if I didn't survive to. Through the warmth and darkness I felt myself compressing, being stretched and tugged and ripped. I did my best not to fight it and arrived sooner or later- time had no meaning here- at a deeply disturbing scene. The asylum that had housed Isabel was now full of demon half-breeds. They flickered and swirled around me.

Then what happened next was too quick for me to even feel afraid. More scenes, maybe ones that led up to this one... John would have known, but I didn't... swam before my eyes and I felt myself being jerked through all of them. None of them were crystal clear; they were all grainy and swam in and out of focus like they were being played by a bad projector.

_A tan man in a plaid shirt walked through the desert, bearing a spear. The Spear of Destiny. He made his way through a guarded checkpoint, the guards falling dead after convulsing with fear. Hennessy, writhing on the floor of a starkly lit convenience store, clear liquid flowing from his mouth, drowning him. Chas throwing his taxi in reverse to avoid it being crushed by a heavy golden mirror flying from a window. The shards of glass glittering in the air. John trapping a spider under a glass. A girl in a cluttered bookshop banging her head on a shelf as she passed out. Angela and John in the same church. Gabriel addressing John with sadness in his eyes. Beeman, covered in a swarm of angry, fat flies._

_Angela, coming up for air, sopping wet and terrified. A gun was in her hand and she was ready to fire._

I willed the scenes to stop moving and shifting, though it felt very much like being thrown headlong into another brick wall when they stopped. I wasn't in the water, even though I was. Two wet hands tried to force me under and I wrenched myself around. Gaping, empty eyes stared through me, and a mouth was twisted into a roaring leer. I barely recognized the man who had carried the spear.

Somehow I knew they could hear me, back in my real time and place. "Hey! Chas... Finn... Midnite... Now would be a great time! Pull me back!" I was fighting, steeling myself against this demon's grip and thrashing in the water. I didn't have the skill yet to bring myself back.

"She's done," said Finn's voice. We shared that lamentable link now, so he would know.

Sure enough, they'd let me down on the floor. I was getting mighty sick of spending time on floors. I came back in a rush, gasping and trying to catch my breath, on a high that I now knew magic could grant me. Proof: things in visions could hurt you. I'd file that away for the next time I wanted to go have another one. I was damp and I smelled like the coppery tang of blood and the sweet richness of crème de cacao and rum, but I wasn't soaking wet. "Isabel's hospital. The asylum. Angela's there. So's Mammon and like fifty demon half-breeds." I was so surprised not to be dripping with pool water. "Help me up."

I didn't notice who, exactly, had come to my rescue. I did once I was back on my feet, and I saw Finn, Chas and even Midnite stubbornly avoiding each others' eyes. I looked down at bare, pale forearms that bore angular tattoos and chafing from leather wrist restraints. Then I looked up to meet John's heated stare. "_Never_," he said, quite coldly, "pull that shit on me again." His hands were holding both my wrists, and the one that held my bitten wrist was tighter, painful. It can't have been to staunch blood, because I knew that vampire bites closed pretty quickly.

"I didn't think I could," I muttered. "You're stubborn."

That made him laugh- a short, loud bark. "Yeah, aren't I."

"Well, what now?" Chas asked.

"You lot go and save the world," Finn drawled.


	10. Gone

**A/N:** Thanks for waiting so long for this update... my summer got weirdly busy these past few weeks, but I'm back to having large amounts of free time now! I'd also like to say, I really like Ellie's character and what I do to her doesn't reflect that. I was disappointed when I found out she was only in the cut scenes in the film. But I was disappointed that Constantine's, er, bedroom personality wasn't more amplified too because I think it's a crucial part of understanding his character. So...

* * *

Rubbing my wrist, I remarked to myself, "I look mildly disgusting."

The two punctures had already partially healed, leaving small nubs of fish-belly white flesh where there'd once been bleeding holes. I was trying to clean myself up in one of the public restrooms at Midnite's while Chas melted down blessed gold for bullet casings. It was a bit of a shame, really, that some of the things which were being melted down were so intricate and pretty. Although if you had as many artifacts as Midnite had, it wasn't a big deal.

I took stock of myself in the mirror, trying to remember what I'd looked like yesterday before my life had speedily gone to seed. The lighting wasn't helping but there wasn't very much to help anyway. My makeup was utterly gone; bruises littered half of my face and my lip was swollen. The cut on my brow, on the other side from the bruising, had scabbed over which gave me a slightly fierce look. I hoped it wouldn't leave a permanent scar as it literally halved my eyebrow. Admittedly I looked worse because I had delicate features. Maybe someone who seemed hardier would take all this in her stride, but Ellie had been right about my demeanor. I looked like a domestic violence victim.

Since I was standing in my (garishly pink leopard print) bra, waiting for one of the men- or the vampire- to produce a shirt that wasn't bloodstained, ripped, and saturated with grime, I could eye the purple and green bruises all over my torso with apprehension. They were starting to smart and throb.

My jeans were staying on if I could help that. I highly doubted anyone had pants that would fit me, and I wasn't going around combating evil without pants. The door opened with a clatter and Midnite tossed me a shirt, one of his by the looks of it: a violet silk thing, where the only demarcation between shades was the subtle shimmer. I shrugged it on, past the point of much modesty and followed him out.

"It's all I could find," he said in his deep voice.

"Thanks," I said gratefully. My hair remained as it was, trailing down my back in a mass of soiled blonde snarls.

Chas was in a room that should have been a kitchen if the club had served much food. A metal mechanism, the mold for the bullets, was filled with liquid gold that steamed in the cool air. Gold was easy to melt, thankfully, which meant we didn't need much time to create bullets out of it. The apprentice pushed down on a heavy lever and out popped perfect, shining ammunition. John was watching him coolly, still annoyed with all of us for staging our coup. He hadn't looked me in the eyes since he'd helped me off the floor. Finn was lounging complacently on one of the stainless steel counters and smiled when he saw me.

"Purple is your color," he mused, looking pointedly at my cleavage. I'd neglected to button the shirt.

"Oh definitely," I scoffed, "It coordinates beautifully with the color of my bruises." Just as pointedly as he was looking, I quickly did up the buttons. "Why are you still here, anyway?"

"Entertainment value," he offered solicitously.

"I suppose vampires have a different idea of entertainment," I sighed.

"Mostly."

I had to content myself with that as Midnite and Chas conducted a discussion on what methods they could even use to debilitate a large group of half-breed demons. Chas was elaborating on a plan he had to contaminate- for lack of a better word- the fire sprinkler system with a holy relic of some kind. "It could work," John said cautiously. "At least, it would give me enough time to get most of them."

He seemed pleased about the innovative idea in spite of himself. Chas grinned, almost sheepish, but too glad that his two heroes were agreeing about something he'd thought up to be shy about his delight.

An enormous gold crucifix studded with rubies was on the counter next to me. I picked it up and flinched at the weight.

"This should do it," I said. It was tingling with power, not a happy sensation. Experimentally, I thrust the crucifix at Finn and he hissed slightly.

"So it's true about the crucifixes."

"_Some _of them," corrected Chas. I recalled the ones in my purse had done less damage to Finn than a housefly might do to me.

Finn recovered when I lowered it from his face. "You tell me," he said grumpily. "It can't be much of a picnic for you to be holding it, either." There was a sharpness in his gaze and I could read something of his thoughts, which weren't complimentary but were slippery as fish when I tried to focus on them. That wasn't fair, because I was an open book to him.

I glanced at Midnite with a question in my eyes. I expected these things to have resonance, but not enough to make my limbs go to pins and needles. Of course I was conveniently ignoring that my own aura had spiked up considerably, looking a little punch drunk and far more glittering than usual. It was probably the only thing keeping me on my feet right now.

He told me, "It was used extensively during the Inquisition."

"Oh," I said softly, dropping the crucifix with a resounding thump.

"But it will be suitable," he continued, his lips pursing with mirth.

"Good."

"_You're_ not going," John said abruptly. The room immediately got stiller. Midnite's coal black eyes flickered to John with a twinge of disapproval.

I felt myself going red out of anger. "It's not like anyone's risking their lives purely for _you_. I happen to like the world. It has books. And coffee." Bless John, but he had a domineering streak a mile wide. The man was Zen as all get out, but equally stubborn about certain things. You would think, given the rather startling growth of my abilities, that he'd just shut up and let me decide when to risk injury and death.

"If we don't exorcise Mammon properly," he explained in a voice constrained by annoyance, "He could jump from Angela to you. Chas and I are safe," he stopped to reconsider the validity of that statement. "From that."

Very unfortunately, it was a logical point. "I didn't think of it," I admitted. I wasn't nearly as explosive as Isabel or Angela, but it was a possibility that the desperate demon would try for any female psychic he could use. A polite cough stilled my speech and Finn looked suspiciously innocent when I glanced over my shoulder at him. "What?"

"I'm going to have to write this all down for prosperity's sake," he said. "I'm feeling remarkably worldly about shadow walkers tonight. Mammon can't jump to your body; it's impossible."

"Why?" asked John wearily.

"I just know it can't happen." He smiled, fangs glimmering. "Her particular brand of magic is a counterweight. It's something you all can investigate further if you survive."

I had the distinct feeling that Finn did know why demons couldn't possess me, but he wasn't about to say so. He looked too smug underneath the innocence not to know. The vampire didn't hit me as particularly malicious, but I think he'd lived too long as an immortal to understand how a human mind worked anymore. He probably had loads of information that could help all of us, but unless it became crucial he wouldn't volunteer it. And obviously, even if the opportunity did come, he wouldn't if he didn't want to.

Yes, Finn and I were going to have a more private chat in the not too distant future about the kindness and necessity of disclosing information that might save my life.

"You know this for _sure_?" I prodded. His thoughts were now completely hidden from me, which was a nasty trick since I was sure he could still read mine. He could have been lying for fun. I hated this learning on the fly deal I was constantly getting. Just once, I wanted to know exactly what to expect and how to deal with it. I was an anomaly, true, but I was an anomaly who liked order.

He sounded deeply offended. "I'm not lying, and yes, I do know for certain. I've been around for such a situation. Channeling is _different_ from possession, by the way."

I'd been wondering about that, too.

* * *

So- I could fully conclude that heights definitely bothered me. Chas ranged ahead of me on a kind of catwalk in the hospital's basement, muttering to himself as I scuttled as fast as I could, refusing to look down through the grated metal under us. It was quite solid and sturdy- and not as high up as it could have been- but that didn't stop me from breaking into a cold, clammy sweat. Eventually we reached a large white tank that I presumed to be the water supply for the fire sprinklers. Chas swore upon realizing that the top of the tank was hardly large enough to drop the huge crucifix in, even if we could undo its screws. I held it wrapped in a rough, thick cloth.

"Shoot it," I suggested pragmatically.

If he noticed I was uncomfortable, he wisely said nothing. But the sooner we got back down, the better. I hardly cared if there were demons that needed to be taken care of, or that the psychiatric ward was currently as unsafe as anywhere could possibly get.

Chas nodded, and with surprising accuracy, shot once at the tank. It clanged loudly, and then gave way enough so that I could wedge the crucifix in. "That's about all we can do," Chas muttered. I stuffed the carrying cloth in my pocket. Since the journey there had taken longer than expected, we'd already wasted enough time. I hoped John was doing as well as we'd done, and that at the least he was relatively unhurt.

It took a while to get out since we had to navigate the labyrinthine passages of the basement. My knees shook, but I focused all my attention on the sound of gunshots coming from one of the upper floors. Chas had gone slightly white- even John Constantine couldn't fend off a crowd of half-breeds indefinitely- but he led me in a run up several flights of stairs. The floor we were looking for was easy to find: the sprinklers had clearly gone off here and only the blaring emergency lights were on.

I barely had time to think of how obsolete the fire safety system was if it only went off on one floor, before I was ruthlessly grabbed about the neck by something with rotting, but intensely strong, hands. There was a harrowing cry in my ears. Chas, being far ahead of me, had ducked into a door where the shots had been heard loudest.

Out of an untapped reserve of fury, I bucked, slipping a little on the wet tile, and hurled my back at the nearest wall. I was sick of being beaten up. I was sick, more importantly, of being beaten up- and bullied- by demons.

It did the trick, as the thing grabbing me howled in rage and let go. It was weakened by the streams of impromptu holy water and looked like a mouldering female corpse wearing a thin yellow sundress and matching headband. I whirled to face it and promptly took it by the shoulders and bashed its head back and forth against the same wall I'd backed into. It seemed to be working fairly well, as the back of the skull was steadily turning softer. The demon stopped moving after a few minutes, but it took me much longer to realize that fact. Once I realized it was dead- or incapacitated anyway- I still took out every ounce of anger I had on the limp form.

Yelling in a savage voice I didn't recognize as my own, I let the creature drop to the floor and proceeded to kicking it until its body was as mushy as its head. "Fucking. God. Damn. Demons."

Coagulated black blood, a fluid that never could have come out of a living human, pooled with the water on the floor. Water rolled down my face and into my mouth. My once navy blue Converse were saturated with gore.

I became lucid enough to see that the being I was mashing to a proverbial pulp had been- or was- Ellie. I finally recognized her long, amber colored hair, which had remained the same, unlike her flesh, which had been ravaged by the holy water and then my beating. Instead of stopping me, her identity spurred me on. It wasn't even like I actually _hated_ her.

She just happened to be _there_.

"That's enough." I was seized and pulled away from the body.

John looked grim as I rounded on him like an animal, lashing out at the first person who'd decided to intervene in the situation. "Don't you stop me, John Constantine," I bellowed. "Don't you _dare_ stop me." For the first time I understood how people could be intensely violent without any remorse. Or even sense. The air around me crackled with sparks of lavender and he actually took a few steps back.

"She's done, don't you understand?" he asked.

"She doesn't deserve to be _done_," I practically shrieked while he restrained me and passed me over to Chas. John had a small, odd and hard smile on his face. "What happens if you deport her? She just gets to go back to Hell!" I was actually amusing him on some note. "And besides, _you_ probably just want to save her," I added contemptuously. (I didn't add that bed sport would be very appealing to _me_ if we survived, though I'd understand if he never wanted to look at me again.)

Maybe amusing wasn't the right term. I'd surprised him by behaving this way. His mind told me so. But he was there not to spare the demon- which is what I expected, honestly- but to fire a fatal shot with that glittering golden gun of his. This one really would "kill" her. Chas watched this fast operation stoically, hefting his own weapon to his shoulder.

"Didn't like her much anyway," he said definitively.

"Neither did I," admitted John, staring down at the corpse, which was now melting into a chunky puddle of brown goo. The gold of the bullet was briefly visible before being inundated by the liquid, which had the consistency of thick stew. John was as soaked as Chas or I, and there were new bruises on his face and neck. "Presumptuous, gold-digging bitch once you got to know her. You good?"

"Good is _not_ the word I'd use," I said. "But not dead, and also not any more injured than before."

"Both good."

"She _was_ the one who said I was dangerous."

I was struggling between the urges to run home or curl up into a ball, but decided I would do neither of those things, and gagged instead. With an inordinate amount of self-control, I refrained from vomiting. Since I'd regained control of my senses, my body was reeling from the heavy smell of sulfur, and, well, seeing the pile of liquified succubus that was at my feet. I inched away from it and inadvertently backed into John, who stopped me from tripping and held me against him. He was very warm and reassuringly solid.

In a brief moment of what would have passed for a normal romantic action under ordinary circumstances, I thought I felt lips brush against the crown of my head. Interesting.

"I remember," said John.

"It's okay, save that Viking battle lust," joked Chas. He wiped water from his eyes, seeming to disregard that it was his soaked hat which was dripping more into his face than the actual sprinklers. "You'll need some of it later. Probably."

"I didn't get a gun, so I overcompensated. She grabbed _me,_" I said.

"We figured," said Chas gently.

Silently, John rested a hand on my cheek before releasing me and leading us off in the direction of the rec room where Angela and Mammon were in my vision. We'd studied a map of the hospital on the way over, and had narrowed the location down to one possible place, especially once seeing there were only two pools used for physical therapy. One for the people who were merely checked into the hospital, and a second for the psych patients. It wasn't very large and it was in the middle of a wide room that they used for physical rehabilitation.

"Why isn't anyone stopping us?" I wondered.

"This wing was closed for the investigation," Chas mused while we hurried along. "They moved the patients out indefinitely. And I think the halls next to it on either side are closed for renovation until the fall. No one's going to notice anything, and if they do- who will believe them?"

"Mammon picked his debut location well," John remarked acridly. "Although it's better this way- fewer casualties, provided we stop him from crossing."

"This is true," I murmured.

We streaked through the deserted blue-tiled hallways like ghosts, passing rooms full of medical equipment or empty desolate beds. The closer we got to the physical therapy rooms, the more I felt like I needed to turn straight around and leave. Finally reaching the pool after what dragged like hours but was only several minutes, our eyes had to adjust to the greenish light inside the vaulted room. At first it looked empty, but then we all realized that a body floated face down in the pool itself.

In an odd parody of her sister's death, Angela drifted on the shallow water, long dark hair forming an eerie halo around her head. The men rushed forward. Shocked, I glanced around. As it had nights ago in John's apartment, the air felt heavier and ominous, but apparently I was the only one who was reacting to it. That didn't mean much; I was probably reading into nothing. John had flipped Angela so that she was facing up. While not dead, she was clearly not unscathed. Her face was mottled with deep blue veins, and it was grotesquely shaped and resembled more of a reptile's than a human's.

"Shit," John said.

"Are we too late?" panted Chas.

I peered at her face. "Well, she's alive... if that's what you mean."

Muttering under his breath, John began to pull Angela out when instantly she started back to life and wrenched him under the surface. His tall body disappeared under the water with a thick yell. They grappled and the possessed woman retained the advantage. Chas and I moved without thinking. He jumped in the water, screaming angrily, and I followed him. Angela had grown unimaginably strong, and her goal was clearly to drown the exorcist. She paid no attention to Chas or me until I splashed over and tried hauling her off of John. She lashed out in a rapid movement that knocked me down.

Sucking in an immense mouthful of chlorinated water before dragging myself to oxygen, I gasped at the cold air and coughed. Around the same time, Angela and John popped back up. His large hands were on her shoulders and he pointed the gun in her face. In its bright light, we saw her eyes had turned a cold, light blue.

They grappled while John struggled to deliver the first words of an exorcism. Angela barred her teeth. Well, I kept thinking "Angela" like it was actually her, but we knew it was Mammon. I flailed out of the way, having no desire to be drowned, and lifted myself out of the pool. Chas and I watched breathlessly, him still in the water. I was crouching on the concrete floor with Chas's rifle forgotten near my feet.

John wasn't going to be able to do it alone, I realized frantically. As quickly as the two had broken the water's surface, he was back under- because the possessed detective was using all of her weight and newly gained strength to hold him for good this time. Bubbles glittered and broke through the violently churning water. It was Chas who couldn't stand to wait any longer than he had to.

When we saw that John could not come back up by his own volition, he reached over and heaved at Angela's taut body with all the force he could muster. It did the trick, but then he and I were faced with a wildly thrashing body. I was nimble enough to miss a strong kick, but not quick enough to avoid a fist connecting with my face where I'd already been punched. I whimpered in pain as bright stars flashed in my eyes: I couldn't help it. Recovering quickly, John grabbed her by the legs and he and Chas hauled her onto solid ground. I spat out blood.

Their efforts still weren't enough to keep her down, and John was coughing up water and hacking. Definitely _not_ at his best. Flinching, but prompted to do so by some deep instinct, I laid my hands on her chest. I don't know what I thought it would do when two comparatively strong men were having enough trouble keeping her restrained, yet I was just about that desperate. To all of our surprise, Angela recoiled under all of our grips.

And something in me _snapped_, railing against the alien, demonic force at my palms. I nearly recoiled myself. She stared at me, newly blue eyes wide in her mockery of a face. I clenched my teeth, entirely unprepared for the shock of part of me rebelling so fully against my own actions. I was revolted, if that was a strong _enough_ word, by my prolonged contact with something so blatantly demonic. It was like it saturated Angela's very being. I could feel she was still in there, in her own body, somewhere. But she was totally subverted.

Rapidly I thought of my past encounters with demons. None, except for the nothing man himself, was fully demon. Not even Balthazar had been. Did making contact with a full demon feel this way for everybody? I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy if it did.

Not because it was painful, exactly, but because it was purely invasive. I made a mental note- that I probably wouldn't remember- to ask Finn what this meant.

John looked from me, to her, and back again. "Useful," he said, voice rough from coughing.

I could have explained how every cell in my body was being violated and saturated by sheer, well, evil. Like touching the nothing man, this was cold. Beyond cold, to the point of burning. But I kept myself to a mere, "_You_ have an exorcism to do." Everyone said Hell burned, and maybe they were right, only in a roundabout way. As though Mammon agreed with me, Angela wriggled and writhed violently, my only lasting effect being that she wasn't lashing out and punching or kicking. Slight improvement. "_Quickly._"


	11. Brotherly Love

**A/N:**OH MY GOD guys. The past, like… two and a half months have been SO bizarre. All my author's notes seem to be apologizing for not updating often enough, and this is no exception. But, as we can see, the story's almost at an end. Maybe. If I decide to end it with the film's ending.

Regardless, I think most of you will be happy with this chapter. I wanted to make it as long as the previous ones (about 8-10 pages) but this is rather shorter because the action itself, at this point in the film, gets a little choppy. I'm finding it difficult to find "breaks" that I like… but then, I'm just ridiculously anal.

* * *

He didn't waste any more time after that. John knelt so that he was straddling Angela, which was going to be the only way he could stay in enough physical contact to do an exorcism. Chas had his hands under her head as his mentor began reciting the words we three were familiar with by now, but didn't have any command over. Mammon hissed and snarled.

Suddenly I felt the two rivaling powers pulsing against each other- John and Mammon. The bizarre sensation traveled up through my fingertips and forced me to back away, scuttling, and I landed flat on my butt. I blinked, trying to watch, and realized more than water was clouding my eyes. A dull, amber colored haze was shading the dank green of the tiles.

"No," I muttered stubbornly. "No. Not now."

The haze usually meant that someone was trying to get inside my head, and although it was almost positively someone human, I didn't need to be trying to prevent a demonic possession while communing telepathically with somebody else. Besides, this ability didn't come with caller ID. Some of my very good friends could do this, and I knew River could, but he was currently unconscious.

But if he was dreaming… I sighed and lowered my defenses. The worst byproduct of this was I couldn't see anymore unless my "caller" wanted to see through my eyes. My brother's voice sounded inside my head quite emphatically.

_What __have__ you __gotten __yourself __into? _He flicked through my most recent memories in confusion.

_Oh,__if__ you__ want__ to __see,__you __can, _I said sarcastically. _This __is __the __most __in convenient__ thing __you__ could__ be__ doing__ right __now._

But, I was extremely happy he sounded as blunt as usual after his thorough beating at Balthazar's hands. River snorted and tuned in using my senses.

_Oh, __shit, _he said upon seeing what I saw. _Was__ that__ demon __bastard__ involved __in__ this__ too?_

Balthazar's image flashed in my brain, ringed in angry red. Good, River was angry, not cowed.

_I'm pretty sure he helped orchestrate it._

_You__'__re__ supercharged, __sis, _commented River.

_I__'__d __kind __of __noticed, _I replied wearily.

John was succeeding, finally. Angela's face contorted and became human again, the fear in her eyes slowly fading into relief, the icy blue shifting back to warm brown. She was smiling weakly, looking up at John, who held her face in his hands.

_Something__'__s __wrong,_I told River, feeling it but not quite getting a handle on what, exactly was wrong.

But he knew before I did. _Mammon__'__s __not__ really __gone, __he__'__s-_

River had learned nearly everything, including Mammon's name, from my mind in about two seconds. I was really the idiot savant of my family.

Angela looked confused for a minute, and then she realized what was happening. The most awful desperation leeched into her expression. Mammon had shifted to her womb, tricking us into thinking he'd been exorcised away, but really using the distraction to do exactly what he'd come to do. She was gasping, her chest heaving as she tried to fight the thing that had invaded her body. Yet she would have to rely on others to evict it.

Chas was horrified, and John swore, face gray. He was beyond tired: I didn't foresee this ending well for him- and if it didn't end well for him, it wouldn't for any of us. Literally. But he started the liturgy again, doggedly, his voice cracking with exhaustion. I thought he figured if lung cancer was going to take him, he might as well go out with more than a bang.

_He__'__s __losing,_I thought, my heart sinking. _He__'__s __losing __it._

Chas had started to help, his voice joining in. The two had their heads bent together, concentrating intently. I felt their joined power rising like a cresting wave, but it still wouldn't be enough.

_I__ can __help__ too,_River offered. _I__ mean,__ I__'__m__ not__ an__ exorcist,__ we __know __that, __but __I__ have-_

_Power, _I finished for him.

I weighed that option very quickly. Being a conduit was never fun, but then this whole evening had been an exercise in a keen lack of fun. If the world ended, it wouldn't matter how badly off I was. If it didn't, then I could probably drug myself and sleep for days. I took mental stock of my body. I thought I could handle it. _Okay._

I had to let everything go and have River take over. It wasn't a pleasant experience, but we'd done this once before, accidentally, during a ritual he'd been leading. I was still here, but it was like being a backseat driver, and this time felt much more intense. I walked forward and went to my knees near Chas, joining them in speaking. It was a mark of how bad the situation was that neither looked at me in surprise, not even when the tenor voice of a young man was coming out of me instead of my own.

They did, however, look taken aback when they felt River's essence flooding through and mingling with theirs. It wasn't mine, they knew that, but it was benign. Even though River's own aura was very attuned with death, and that allowed him to see ghosts and spirits on a different level than I could, his energy came from the light. Once a tarot reader told him that was exactly why dead people flocked to him.

Heartened, Chas became louder, his voice taking on the urgency of a chant.

_Mammon__'__s __leaving,_River said.

I did the mental equivalent of a nod as we saw Angela's stomach stretch back to normal, and tauten, under John's hands. River relinquished his control of me and settled back into the role of observer, waiting.

Chas, John and I panted, looking at each other like we hardly dared hope we'd won. "What was that?" Chas asked.

I smiled slightly. "River. I don't have that kind of power. But he used me as a transfer."

My brother allowed himself a tiny wave of smugness at the respect in Chas's eyes. John stared at me, maybe wondering how that transferring could work but saving the question for a better time.

_Oh__ yeah,_River said wickedly. _He__'__s__ all__ over __you __in __his __head. _

_Shut __up, _I commanded.

"Not bad," John said to Chas. "Not bad yourself, kid."

Chas dimpled with pleasure at the very rare compliment. Alight with his newfound success, he looked down at Angela, who was thankfully limply out of her wits, and said, "You hear that? This is Chas. Chas Kramer-"

_Something__ else__ is__ here, _River said suddenly. Chas was violently dragged backward by an invisible force before John or I could stop him. I shrieked.

"Chas!" yelled John. "Chas!" He threw himself forward but there wasn't anything that could be done. The boy flew up toward the ceiling, flailing. With a solid crunch that made me wish I couldn't hear, he collided with it and looked dazed.

"Oh no," I moaned. "Oh no."

One more crash, and Chas dropped back to the floor, sprawled floppier than a gutted fish. Blood trickled from one nostril and out of the corner of his mouth. A few feet away lay his signature hat. He couldn't even turn his head, much less move.

I stared at him mutely. I felt myself go white, and that was about it. If I'd been the fainting type, I would have fainted. My knees went wobbly, though, so I knelt near his chest. Those lively brown eyes of his were wide with shock, staring at me.

_River_? I thought desperately.

_I__ can__'__t __heal __him,_ he told me sadly. _He __has __to__ die__ before __I__ could__ do__ anything.__ Before__ you __could,__ either. _It was true.

John, if I dared say it, was driven close to tears. He pushed a tendril of hair from Chas's forehead and tried to smile. Neither of us was a medical expert, but we could see Chas was obviously terminally damaged. His spine was probably utterly shot, although his neck wasn't broken to the point of immediate death.

More intensely than before, I felt John's pain. It was mingled with anger, but the pain itself was overwhelming. Death, he was thinking, was just his lot. Chas's mouth was moving and we both leaned closer to try and hear him.

"It's not like it is in the books," he forced out. Amazingly, he smirked.

"No," John said quietly. "It's not." He squeezed Chas's hand.

Because River was still with me, I could see it when Chas's spirit broke from his body. The life in his eyes flickered out first. Then a vaporous, glimmering shape sifted its way from his chest, and coalesced into his double. It flickered around the edges, but was otherwise solid. John, however, couldn't see it. His mouth was set in a grim, hard line as he looked at Chas's face, his own tight and set.

"River," I said urgently.

_You__'__re__ sure?_ He said quickly.

"Whatever," I replied impatiently.

_It__'__s __necromancy,_ he explained. _I__'__ve __never__ done__ a __person. __I__ brought __a__ cat__ back-_

_I__ don__'__t __care,_ I thought. _You__ said__ I__'__m __supercharged.__ Use__ that. __Just __use __it.__ It__'__ll __come __back__ eventually.__ Finn __said__ nighttime__ was __mine._

River, if he had been right there next to me, would have been nodding slowly. It was one of his habits, that pensive nod. _Okay._

Another thing I was very sick of- add it to the list of like four other things after tonight- was feeling alien powers waft through me. This was like an electric shock, though, painful and polarizing. I bit back the shock and felt myself walking forward, arms outstretched like I was a kid trying to catch fireflies. What I was doing- what my brother was doing- was gripping Chas's essence and keeping it from drifting wherever it was going.

John eyed me incredulously. "What're you…?"

River spoke through me, and he sounded nothing more than disgruntled. My brother, being slightly arrogant, got easily annoyed when anyone other than me questioned him. "Saving him for you, hopefully. He saved _me_ tonight, after all."

"You're the brother. Again."

"The same."

John fell quiet, as though that answered everything. River marshaled power- his, and mine- and the only thing I knew was that somehow, Chas was being forced back into his body. It felt very similar to how I forced myself back into my own body after touring dreams, or doing the trance work I'd accomplished earlier.

"Don't fight me," River told me, through my own mouth.

_I__'__m__ not,_ I insisted. _You__'__re __using __my __mouth __to__ tell__ me__ not __to __fight __you._ I realized, in another second, why he'd mentioned it.

This _hurt._If this was what being a necromancer felt like, no wonder there weren't many of them around: the sensation was anything but pleasant and felt more like being skewered with hot pokers up and down than anything more civilized.

Technically, bringing someone back from the dead was necromancy. It didn't mean they ended up a zombie- that was a different branch of magic entirely. What we were doing was totally opposite, and you could only do it with the recently dead. Like very recently dead: alive thirty seconds ago dead. That was why this would result in nothing more than a disoriented Chas. Zombies were filled with a life that didn't belong to them, and often couldn't remember being brought back to life. Chas, however, would.

I brought my hands down on the body's shoulders and the heated stabbing sensation traveled up the length of my body and pushed through my fingertips.

_If __this__ goes __on__ for__ very __much __longer,_ I swore blankly, _it__'__s __going __to __kill__ me._

_Hold__ on, _River urged. _He__'__s __almost__ back._

At the last instant I wanted to fight River off and give up, Chas gasped. His body jerked and John started, looking over at me, and back at his apprentice. _Stop_, I begged. River withdrew, taking his power back within himself, and I breathed a sigh of relief before immediately wishing I was attached to a morphine drip.

"That's it. I want to be unconscious," I said. So far, my biggest resilience turned out to be not falling unconscious at every provocation.

Added to the multiple injuries I'd already experienced, my skin felt raw, angry and red. I looked at my hands expecting to see blisters and charring, only to see perfectly undamaged flesh. My head ached and there were small auras around the lights. My limbs felt heavier than the books I carted up and down ladders.

_Sorry,__ Eva,_ River said. He didn't sound sorry, necessarily, more exhilarated. I nodded weakly- it had been worth it.

Chas was still on the floor, eyeing his surroundings. He put a hand to his nose bemusedly and wiped blood away. "John?" he croaked tremulously.

John was about to reply, a true smile crossing his face, when the invisible superpower lashed out again. I toppled back, skidding on the tile, and was dragged ruthlessly backward.


	12. Deals with the Devil

**A/N: **I'm taking pity on you all- this is a small segment of a larger chapter! Hopefully you enjoy. I'm horribly sorry. (Again.) Grad school has been an adjustment, and writing my fan-fictions hasn't been a priority. (I have the one-shots that kind of just happen, but this one and a few other longer ones I had planned were really thrown under the bus.)

* * *

My eyes opened and the world was still dark. I wondered, briefly, if I was dead, and then decided if I was that this wasn't so entirely awful. It was warm. Nothing hurt. River was out of my head. And all of that, given my recent activities, was what mattered to me. I was laying on something hard. Slowly, my surroundings came into view, still looking like they were under the haze of a soft-focus lens.

San Lorenzo. I was in a fucking church, sprawled on a fucking pew.

Everything finally adjusted and I stared at the man who sat a few pews away. He was watching me with an eerie smirk on his oddly flattened, blotchy face. "I wanted to see what all the fuss over you was about," he said, voice sibilant and low. Dressed all in cold white, he made a stark contrast against the somber, warm grays of the church.

I sat up and realized that I, too, was wearing all white. I surreptitiously examined my body under the gauzy dress and saw there were no bruises, no cuts, absolutely no marks of trauma. "You're a little late, aren't you?" I said mildly.

The man grinned and it made me shudder. He had the grin of a fairy-tale witch about to shove children in an oven. "I'm right on time." I squinted disbelievingly: he had no aura, nothing, not even a glimmer of color surrounding his body.

"Who are you?" I asked, thinking, _Well, I'm already dead. Probably. So unless I'm on the way to Hell, there's not very much to be frightened of. _

"The Devil," he said.

"Yeah, don't pull any punches," I said. Was this safe? Never mind. Of course, it probably wasn't.

"I never do."

Taking him at face value, I just went with it. Stranger things had happened. "Are you allowed to be in a church? Even one on the astral plane?"

"I like you," he replied evasively. "You're ballsy."

Cautiously, not really feeling that was the best commendation of my character, I said, "What's going on?" If the Devil lied, I just didn't care. Besides, if an angel could go Dark Side, why shouldn't the Devil be able to tell the truth if he wanted to?

"You're not dead. Yet," he said easily. "You're in between. Your patrons thought it might be easier for you to not be around for this next chapter of the story, and I can't say I blame them. Your body's not too well off, I should think." The Devil's eyes glinted yellow, and I knew he could care less about the state of my mortal shell. Great, back on earth, I was probably fast becoming a paraplegic if I was still being dragged around by something I couldn't see. "Anyway, your boyfriend's about to do something very… stupid."

I barely kept from rolling my eyes. "He's not the boyfriend type. And I don't think there are many more stupid things he can do."

"No, just one," he said.

Understandably, my brain was sluggish. I processed, and remembered something Midnite had said about John and the Devil. _You're the one soul he'd come up here himself to collect. _I bit my lip. Mammon was the Devil's son. The Devil, most likely, wouldn't be very happy that he was gallivanting around with Gabriel and Balthazar.

We'd talked about that briefly. Apparently, Chas and I hadn't caught on to what John had been thinking. "You're waiting for him to kill himself?"

"Yahtzee," said the Devil with a happy sigh. "I suppose he and Gabriel had a lover's tiff- but he's beat up pretty bad. He's thinking of suicide."

I fell silent. The Devil was not omniscient, or at least he didn't sound it from the way he was talking. He could see snatches of what was going on "down there" so to speak, but did he know about Mammon? I thought quickly of everything we'd uncovered about the demon. If Gabriel was veiling everything Mammon was doing, then chances were the Devil had no idea what was really transpiring. Balthazar and Gabriel had really thought this through.

"There's more to it," I said reluctantly.

I couldn't stop John from offing himself but I had a few trump cards the Devil might dearly like to have. Once he got to John, maybe- just maybe- they would be worth something. Theoretically. Well, if you thought about it, if Mammon ended the world, neither the Devil nor God would have a playing field anymore. If they wanted it back, they would both have to fight for it. Again. It was just like Granne Erzulie had said to John- why would anyone other than Mammon want the world to be a Hell?

One cracked angel, apparently, and another equally twisted demon.

The Devil went very still, like he was scenting prey. "Oh, is there?"

I gulped nervously. And I told him everything.

His bony long fingers flexed, hands folding and unfolding. I wondered if I'd made a mistake; he looked livid, anger turned inward and waiting to bubble to the surface.

"Of course, you're not lying," he said, eyes fixed on mine. "That would be- well. What do you want? Him? That's not going to happen."

I might be selfish, but I hadn't even thought of bargaining for John's soul. I didn't even think it was on the table. Maybe the Devil usually dealt with more lovesick women. I paused a moment. If I could, would I have wanted him? Probably. But in this second, that wasn't my priority.

"Balthazar. He's been totally, permanently deported this time." The malice in my voice almost shocked me.

Surprise was an alien emotion for the Devil, but I think he felt it for a full second. "Smart girl. Done." He shook his head with mock pity, a smile on his face. "You and John would have really been good together for a while. Mais, c'est la vie, n'est-ce pas?" The French sounded more like a hiss than a language.

Abruptly, he cocked his head, listening for something I couldn't hear, watching something I had no capacity to see.

"Well," he said. "It's been chipper, but we really _must_ be going. Wouldn't want to miss the party." He moved forward to touch me, and I flinched.


	13. Stubby the Angel

Somebody was propping me up against a wall. My head was lolling forward and I could smell a repulsive, nose searing mix of sulfur, blood, and chlorine. "What party?" I muttered. My ears were giving off a high-pitched ringing.

"Not the term I'd use about tonight," said Chas's voice through the shrill keening. I jumped, thinking he was still dead, until I remembered he wasn't.

I swore to God if I was knocked out and roughly woken up one more time within my lifetime, I would officially become an atheist out of spite. At this rate, I probably had brain damage. I blinked my eyes open heavily. Interestingly, the Devil hadn't lied. To me, at least.

I was back- my patrons had done their job protecting me then, which meant some voodoo thank-you rituals in the near future- I was in extreme pain to the point of being almost numb, and he seemed to have stopped Mammon. The world didn't look like Hell. Not in the literal sense of the word, anyway.

The apprentice's face was pale, but otherwise composed. His curly hair was still damp, shiny under the greenish light of the physical therapy room. Momentarily forgetting that I should probably ask him how he felt, I demanded, "Where's Angela?" The important thing.

Chas gestured a few feet away from me. "She's there." And so she was, leaning against the wall, looking rather gray and totally spent. She looked over at me, having only enough strength to make a halfway nod. Couldn't blame her.

I jumped to my feet, my body processing my thought before I could really think it, and disregarded my instant need to vomit from the dizziness. "Gabriel- what's happened to-" It had been Gabriel who flung me around like a rag doll. Gabriel had killed Chas. Presumably, he'd been the mastermind behind the horrific past few days, and I wanted to kill him.

Never mind that you couldn't kill an angel.

That was why he hadn't wanted me doing my brand of magic. It had nothing to do with being an "abomination" or God's plan. If I'd been really diligent I could have broken into Gabriel's private dreamworld sooner; there was a chance I could have found out what he and Balthazar knew long before now. Lucky for him, I'm not the most focused person.

"You're behind the times," said Chas, looking at me worriedly. He looked much less like a puppy than ever, our adventure's toll on his psyche and demeanor. "And how do you know that-"

"I just do." Call it presumption, or whatever you like. But since the force chucking us like footballs hadn't been the Devil, wasn't God, and Balthazar was permanently dead, that left… oh, Mammon or Gabriel. Mammon, having been impregnating Angela at the time, wasn't really in a position to be telepathically throwing us.

I glanced around wildly, finally settling on the lone, thin figure standing knee-deep in the half-filled pool. Gabriel. _Huh._ With his once beautiful, white wings charred to the bone, nothing more than tattered, blackened stumps. His face looked bruised and there was an expression of utter bewilderment on his face. _What the Hell happened to him? Did the Devil do that? _I started forward, angrily, but ended up tripping spectacularly over my own feet in a combination collapse and stumble.

"Motherfucking traitorous bastard," I mumbled, ineffectively, from the ground. My body had, at last, decided not to work. Bravo for it. It should have decided that about six hours ago.

"You need to sit," Chas said, catching me before I could do more damage to myself and then plunking me back down against the wall.

He knelt and took a breath. "Here, I'll say it slowly. John should be dead, but he's not. The Devil came topside to claim him for slashing his own wrists, but John gave himself up in exchange for Isabel's soul going to Heaven since _she_ was a suicide, which earned him Redemption."

"As in, he's not going straight to Hell when he dies of lung cancer?" I asked, with my social, empathetic filters spent for the rest of the night.

Chas smiled wearily. "Exactly- but, and actually, this part got really twisted- John was going to go straight to Heaven, you know, being dead and Redeemed. But the Devil healed him before he let him go. Brought him back to full health. Presumably so John would have plenty more years to earn his way back to Hell, but I remain optimistic that he'll also make a full ethical recovery." Chas caught himself. "If he doesn't start smoking again."

This floored me. It did. If I hadn't already been on the floor, I would have found myself collapsing on it quickly. True, the Devil had done it, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. How long had I been out? Enough time had passed for all of this to occur, and then for John to tell Chas about it. Or somehow, Chas had seen everything, but I didn't know for sure considering the circumstances.

"Oh. What else?" What else could I say?

"The Devil had found out about Mammon and put the kibosh on all of that. Guess he was just waiting for the opportune moment." My, we had learned to be so nonchalant about the least mundane things. He caught me looking murderously at Gabriel, and shook his head. "And don't worry about Stubby- Gabriel's been excommunicated. God got involved too for about two seconds. Turned him human. Then John punched him in the face."

"Good," I said, slightly bitterly. Chas, wisely, let it go. "Look, you know- you know what River did, right?" He hesitated, but then nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "It was… well, dying is strange." We exchanged a pregnant look. I didn't want to know what dying was like until I had to do it, but if it led me to that in-between place before anything else, then at least I had that part covered.

"That's a prosaic way of putting it," said John. He'd come up so quietly neither of us had heard him. I looked up at him, seeing his clothes in stained disarray, his face pale but less gaunt than before, and I felt an unexpected snarl of emotions. Instead of keeping eye contact, I was fixated on the beaten, ancient spear he held in one hand.

"Is that…?" I couldn't finish the question. I'd been raised too Catholic, and I recoiled. John twiddled his fingers on the metal.

"Yeah," he replied.

It got so quiet all I heard was Angela and Chas breathing laboriously, the drips of water and blood on the floor, and the sound of distant traffic. Gabriel seemed too dazed to react to anything very much, but he'd just been turned human so it was probably a miracle he was still functioning. That pesky humanity had to be a shock to your system. John's brown eyes were resting on me and I looked away.

"Well," Chas said, sounding exhausted as he broke the silence, "Shall we? I think I've been here long enough."

Smiling wanly, I agreed. "I could use some food."

What I really could use was bed rest and a Valium, but we had to have our priorities.


	14. Epilogue: An End Has a Start

**A/N: **Well, this is it. The end. _HOWEVER, _I am writing a sequel- set in the same universe, so there will be Eva and Chas and John and Midnite and Finn and River and maybe even Angela- but that storyline didn't to fit here since this was, after all, formatted around the film. The next story will be leaving that particular plot, but will still use some of the canon characters.

Thank you all for your tireless, patient support and commentary. I love having readers who care about what I'm writing. It meant so much to me, especially because I was writing most of this during a period of my life when I didn't know exactly what I was going to be doing or where I would end up.

I may do some edits, but whatever edits there are will be small. The formatting on goes wonky sometimes and I've only just noticed some of that in the earlier chapters.

* * *

The morning light was bright and fierce. I wasn't expecting him to keep his word and show up. John Constantine was not a morning person. Neither was I, but I was the "I sleep whenever the fuck I can" type of person.

The sidewalk was still crowded with people. Los Feliz was like that. It didn't matter what time of day it was. I sipped my tea peevishly.

The doctors- I'd finally been convinced to go to the hospital, mostly because I wanted Finn to stop hopefully offering me blood since I didn't know what it would actually do to me even though he said it would help- had insisted I cut back on caffeine while my body was still on the mend. That meant no lattes or cappuccinos.

The end total of damage had been impressive, but not insurmountable. A mild concussion, bruised ribs, one cracked rib, my left shoulder had been dislocated, and they'd also had to remove my spleen, which had ruptured at some point. Thankfully you didn't need a spleen. I'd been in so much pain anyway it wasn't as though I could catalogue what, exactly, hurt most.

Balthazar had also left his mark in the form of fingerprint bruises around my throat and the spectacular black eye that was still a faint bruise, and the hospital had sent me numerous women's crisis counselors. I couldn't tell the truth. I lied and said I'd been mugged and couldn't remember the details. It wasn't a farfetched lie. Everything seemed like a dream. A very long, drawn out, and horrible dream- except, of course, it hadn't been. River was still in the hospital and most likely would be for another two weeks. It had already been three, but Balthazar had done more thorough work on him than on me.

"Morning."

I smiled at John. "Hey," I said, voice raspy from disuse and the damage done to my throat.

He pulled up a chair to my table. I was expecting him to also pull out a cigarette; his fingers twitched but he didn't reach into his blazer pocket after all. That was progress. "You look better."

"So do you." He did look better: less haggard. Stopping smoking had meant he'd gained some weight. There was also some color in his cheeks for the first time since I'd met him. I decided I liked it. His aloof, unreadable expression was still the same, though.

"It's what a clean bill of health will do to you."

We regarded each other, both veterans of a particularly bad battle. "Everything's settled down, then?" I'd been out of the loop and I was in no hurry to return to the astral realm.

"For now," he said. "The calm never lasts, though."

He would know. For most of my adult life I'd been hearing about what this man did to keep the world safe, although I'd learned it was hardly ever as glamorous as hanging out at Midnite's and looking coldly sexy. Just because this apocalypse had passed didn't mean there wasn't going to be another one. But John, while not old by any means, deserved rest in my opinion. I wanted that for him. There had to be an upcoming generation of hotheaded exorcists. I knew there could only be one Constantine, but it wasn't as though his adventures had ever been completely solitary. There'd been Beeman, Midnite, Hennessy, and even Finn.

I still didn't know what relationship Finn and John had, but was three-fourths sure it had at some time involved sex.

"Why don't you just retire? Pass the torch? Now seems like a great time."

I was thinking of Chas, so I wasn't entirely comfortable with the evaluating look he gave me. I knew what it meant. Suddenly, I knew why he'd consented to meet me hours before he normally woke up, and in public, and in a café. "Doesn't it."

"Why?" I said.

"Why not?"

"Because everything was trial by fire for me."

"That's the best way."

I put down my mug. "I'm not even trained."

"I could fix that," he said. "There's not much you'd have to learn from me, anyway."

"You can barely stand one apprentice."

"Chas has graduated, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, yeah, John. He died." Sighing, I skimmed his aura to see if he was serious. He was. The slate gray didn't waver and held no other colors but the usual black."Why me?"

Despite his lack of care for social empathy, he knew this was an important question for me to have answered. There could be no sarcastic retort or ambiguous witticism. I wouldn't say yes if I didn't know exactly why. He leaned back in his chair.

"There are certain qualities I have, and they're the ones that have kept me in this the longest. Longer than anyone I know, except for Midnite. I don't count Finn- even though he's pushing 400- because he wasn't always in this for the balance. Resourcefulness and pigheadedness come to mind. I act first and think while I'm acting. It makes me more effective than the others- wilier and harder to catch." There was no arrogance in his words.

I waited. He continued, "You have those traits too. It annoys everyone else; it annoys me. But they're what you need. I'm not asking you to totally take over, but some help would be nice."

Well, he had that right, at least. I thought about what he said. If I said yes, would it be so different, really, from what I'd been doing? I reflected on my behavior during the past few months.

No. It wouldn't be, when all was said and done. The only difference would be having the intent to enforce the balance rather than only protecting my brother, Chas, John, or myself. Chas couldn't do it the way John could, and somehow I knew that. It didn't mean he was weak or inept. Actually, it probably meant he was a much better person than the rest of us.

But where there should be something rash and unyielding within Chas's soul, there was only eagerness. And anyway, a three-headed monster was more effective than a lone wolf. John knew those days were gone. He'd only taken forever to admit it.

I'd seen what the darkness kept secret. I didn't want to be passive and reactive any longer, even though the idea of taking on responsibility was daunting. There was still the Nothing Man. There were still demons, still half-breeds. There was still enough danger to make my head spin, and the difference between my earlier mentality and the one I had now was purely that I knew what kind of danger there could be.

And the people John cared about hadn't died because of him. They'd died because people die, and because he tried too hard to keep them safe without empowering them. I reached over and took his hand. He looked surprised, breaking into one of his wry, lopsided almost-smiles, but didn't stop me.

"What do we do now, then?"

"We start."


End file.
